


Until You Believe

by Eboni_A



Series: Don't Save Me [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 19:52:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17987552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eboni_A/pseuds/Eboni_A
Summary: The most epic family reunion of the millennium involves thunder, lightning, holy fire, and chocolate chip pancakes. God returns, siblings go to war, hard truths are uncovered, and forgiveness is up in the air--all because Gabriel just had to go and blow that stupid horn.





	1. Chapter 1

Gabriel  
             

Raphael’s composition is a simple midtempo piece. It’s short—maybe a minute and a half long, with no flats or sharps. My brother was a poet, not a musician. I’m impressed with what he’d come up with, though I recognize the core melody as being something of mine. He plagiarized me and watered down the work. Can’t even be mad about it, the song’s purpose is to help me. That is, if Dad even hears it and chooses to respond.

“You ready?” Dean asks.

Sam and Mary kicked all of the hunter trainees out for this. We sit in the library, me at the head of the table with the summoning song and my horn, the others gathered around, looking on as if they’re going to join in with tambourines. I told them that they should have gone with the trainees, there’s no telling what playing this thing could do to mortal ears, and the nutcases popped in ‘special’ earplugs spelled by a witch. Rowena is awesome, but I don’t think her powers will hold up against holy fire.

“Question is: Are you?” I counter. “You really should go.”

“And you should follow the plan. If we start to feel like we might combust, we’ll signal and you’ll stop. Then, we’ll go,” Sam says. “But if it turns out we’re fine here, then we’d rather be where we can help you.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I lift the horn in one hand and take a breath. My lungs rumble as crunchy junk shifts around in there. I cough into my sleeve to try to clear it out, before bringing the horn to my lips. Closing my eyes for a moment, I visualize the notes written in Raphael’s neat hand, and blow.

My grace slides through the instrument, threading itself through the music, pressing the existence of the notes into time itself, like pressing fingers rubbed in ink on surfaces to leave impressions. I feel it bleed through the folds of this reality, seeping into the next, and keep playing.

The song’s over before I know it. Sam. Dean, Mary, Cass and Jack intact, watching me, as I pull the horn from my lips and set it vertical on my knee. My head spins and the room grays as my grace fluctuates.

“Catch him!” Mary shouts.

“Gotcha!” Dean’s voice in my ear. A loud clatter against the floor—my horn. But hey, it could have been me. I feel myself being settled back into the chair I was in, hands still supporting me so I don’t fall forward. My eyes flutter open; the room’s not dancing anymore, but the colors are still faded and when people speak to me, they echo.

I stare at them, exhaustion making it hard to concentrate. “The summons went out.”

“It worked?” Dean asks.

“Yeah.”

“I felt it,” Castiel confirms. “Power left this room.”

“And him,” Dean says. “You gonna be okay? You need something to eat, a soda…?”

I shake my head, cobwebs knitting in my brain. “Just tired.”

“Sleep then,” Sam says. “I can carry him. You guys should stay here, in case…”

“You think Chuck will appear in here?” Dean asks.

They’re talking like I’m not here, and I may as well not be. My body feels like it’s treading water, head barely above the surface of being awake. My remaining grace flickers like a dying firework inside me.

Castiel presses his hand to my head. “I will come with you, Sam, and stay with Gabriel after. You and Dean should wait here for God, since you are best acquainted.”

Cass’s voice sounds funny as he says that. Why? Does he want to avoid Dad? Is he nervous? Angry? I feel myself being moved, lifted. I should object, but I don’t care enough to open my mouth. I let my eyes close on the world around me, letting my awareness drift away. Too tired to think anymore. Castiel will tell me what’s wrong with him later. When Dad comes, if He comes.

But He has to come.

“He’s really out of it.” A whisper.

“You really think this is gonna work?”

“I really think we need this to work”—are the last words I hear.

 

* * *

 

~*~

 

I wake to the sound of humming and the sense of a presence sitting beside me on the bed, body depressing the mattress. I turn my head to the side, facing the person, opening my eyes. An unimpressive man sits next to me, he’s average height, thin, short curly brown hair, blue eyes, forgettable features. He feels… strange, not human, but not…

He smiles at me, a slow glimmer warming his blue eyes and I gasp, stomach turning a flip. That glimmer—my glimmer. But… I try to sit up, and he places a hand on my chest, holding me down with ease. “Shhh… it’s all right, son. I’m here now.”

“D-dad?”

He nods, and lets me feel a taste of his power. I see a flare of His glorious light.

“It’s you,” I breathe.

“Yes,” He says, stroking a long curl behind my ear. “You wouldn’t accept my healing energy while you slept. Let me heal you now, and then we’ll talk.”

I blink, trying to wrap my head around His being here and what He’s saying to me. He wants to—“No!” I blurt.

“No, what?” He frowns.

“You can’t heal me,” I stammer. “I don’t—I don’t want it.”

“Son, your grace is in ruins and your vessel is sick. Stop being ridiculous and accept my healing.” Dad’s look is stern. It would scare me, if He didn’t also look like a guy who works at Best Buy.

“It’s my penance,” I say, holding his gaze. “I’ve got a lot to atone for and don’t deserve healing.”

“Oh please,” Dad snorts. “I decide who deserves what around here. But why do you want to torture yourself?”

“I…” I go to sit up again and this time He lets me. He sits taller than I do, and he’s a bit broader in build. The furrow between his brows and frown he gives is paternal and I want to lean into him, like I’m some baby. “I’ve done awful things. But I want to make it right. Did they—do you know about Heaven?”

Dad’s frown deepens, his gaze on me heavy. “Yes. Sam and Dean told me why you called. Castiel described the state of Heaven to me when I came into this room. I will fix it.”

Relief courses through me and dizziness. I do lean into him and feel His arm come around my shoulders. “How will you fix it?” I ask.

“I’ll strengthen the angels above,” He says. “I’ll also add a power source that will draw from me wherever I am. But Gabriel.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Even with that done, Heaven needs an archangel to lead it.”

Panic floods me. “Not me,” I say. “I can’t. I thought about it, and I can’t.” I’m no leader. Castiel said maybe Heaven needed a screw up, but I know it doesn’t. It needs… “Heaven needs a good archangel, a strong one. It needs Michael, or Raphael.”

“Michael is damaged, Gabriel, and Raphael is dead.”

“What’s that to you, though?” I ask. “You can heal Michael, you could raise Raphael.”

“Healing Michael may not be possible,” Dad says. “And raising Raphael will take time.”

“What is time?” I ask. “And what’s not possible for you?”

He doesn’t speak. Instead, he hums a very old song that stirs up memories of being made of light, of visiting other worlds and watching new creation. Raphael had been with me, marveling at everything. Michael and Lucifer minded Heaven when Dad took Raphael and I away with him. We always returned to a place where everyone was happy.

My stomach hurts.

I feel Dad’s power touch me, trying to work its way beneath my skin to my core, wanting to heal what’s broken inside. I shut it out. No.

“Gabriel.” His voice is scolding.

“Bring them back, please,” I say in response, wanting to pull away from him, but I don’t have the physical strength. “My brothers. Heaven needs them.” I need them.

A long silence.

“That’s what you really want?” Dad softly asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

“Then, I’ll try with Michael. And I’ll begin Raphael’s resurrection. But Gabriel, it may not work with Michael, and Raphael’s return will not be a swift one. In any case, Heaven will still need an archangel…”

“And I’ll do it until they can take over,” I say. “I’ll do my best and when they come, I’ll stay and I’ll help them, like I should have done all along. Things wouldn’t be this way if I’d just stayed.” I whisper the last part.

“You had to go,” Dad says. “I needed one of you to love man. Michael did not. Raphael lost his love. You were my last hope, and you’ve done well, son.”

I blink. “I masqueraded as a pagan god and killed humans for sport.”

To my surprise, Dad chuckles. “Well, it’s not like you killed model citizens, kid. Pagans have different ways than us, but none of those souls you toyed with were destined for Heaven. I saw the other things you did. The humans you helped and studied, the bloodlines you nurtured and guided. You are my only son who could truly fathom the idea of goodwill toward men. Even Raphael, who loved his vessels at one point, could not continue to see the goodness in humanity after eons of war.”

“I could have helped him see it,” I murmur.

“But you wouldn’t have truly learned it yourself if you’d remain to help him see,” Dad says. “No, I planned for you to go.”

“You knew I was leaving before you saw me and let me go?” I ask.

“I came to see you one last time,” Dad says. “I never intended to stop you. I shouldn’t have…I never should have given you the blade or told you that I expected you to help in the fight. When I knew you’d go, I was relieved.”

“But did you know I’d go for so long? That Heaven would fall apart, that my brothers would fall apart, while I partied?”

Dad is quiet again.

“I did not look that far into your future,” He says. “Or theirs. When I left, I also left it to you all to make your own choices.”

“Michael was still following a choice that you’d made for him eons ago. He never made his own choices. And Raphael followed what Michael wanted, and then…” I shrug and bring my hands up to cover my face. “What a big mess. I should have gone back an epoch ago, after… Because that was the only thing I really couldn’t watch.”

“You’re trembling,” Dad says, sounding astonished. “How very human you are. How does it feel?”

“Awful,” I say. “Miserable. Pathetic.”

I feel His power reach for me again.

“No!” I push away, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to get up. “I told you. This is… my just desserts.” Dad grabs me before I stand.

“Then you’re not getting up,” He says. “Get back under those blankets.”

I stare at Him, at… Chuck. I smirk, Chuck the Prophet, the popcorn writer. “Raphael himself protected you, I hear. But he didn’t have a clue. How could you, when You saw what he’d become?”

“I don’t like your tone, son,” Dad says. “No, Raphael did not know who I was, and yes, I watched him and it saddened me. But he made his decisions, he had his beliefs, I chose not to interfere.”

“And so, he died,” I say. “And you let Michael fall into the cage with Lucifer instead of letting them fight it out. Not that I wanted it to happen, but Lucifer died anyway—and Michael’s hurt. Lucifer should have just died then, and Michael could have gone back to Heaven.”

“And half the human population would have…”

“You could have saved them! Protected them from the fight—stopped the fight. You could have dealt with Lucifer and let Michael stay home. He didn’t want to hurt him either. He did things for You, and You only.”

Dad narrows his eyes, pulling back the blankets on the bed and shaking them over me properly. “Gabriel, what’s done is done. I will attempt to heal Michael and will revive Raphael, because you have asked, do not make me change my mind.”

I shut my mouth as He finds the pillows I must have knocked on the floor and stacks them behind me. “Lie down,” He commands.

I rest my head on the pillows. “There are too many—”

“Your head must be elevated. You cannot lie flat,” Dad says. He places a hand on my chest. “A human virus.” He shakes his head. “You never fail to surprise me, Gabriel.” He sighs. “Where were you?”

I start. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you were dead years ago. I couldn’t sense you at all,” He says. “The only realms I cannot sense are…”

“Within Cages or the Empty,” I supply. I shut my eyes. “I don’t like talking about it.”

“Then, may I see?” He asks.

My eyes open; I feel tears stinging behind them. I don’t want Him to see my shame, my utter humiliation and degradation. I don’t want Him to see me break and beg like an animal. But I can’t talk about it with Him. Shaking, I nod my head and His cold hands touch either side of my face. I feel his presence enter mine and I do my best to relax as he flips through my memories.

He pulls back with a gasp, his own eyes wet as he stares at me. “Oh,” he breathes.

I turn, putting my back to Him. I can’t leave the room to put more distance between us. This is all I can do.

“Oh.”

Power builds behind me, brutal and vicious. Fear stirs in my gut as the Wrath of God literally grows behind me—and then snuffs out as quickly as it had come. “Is the beast dead?” His voice is rough.

“Yes,” I say. “I killed him after I was ‘rescued’.”

“Rescued to be used,” Dad growls. “You took care of those pagan gods too?”

“Yes,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “They’re dead. Everyone’s dead… but me.”

“Gabriel, you can’t feel guilty about killing those who betrayed you, who willingly hurt you,” Dad says. He sits on the bed. “I’d smite them all, if you hadn’t beat me to it.” He touches my shoulder. “I saw Lucifer in your memories too, as he was recently.”

"I really don’t want to talk about him.”

“He loved you, Gabriel,” Dad says softly. “More than the others. He didn’t lie to you. And that offer he made, he meant it. He wanted you to come with him, both times. I feared for you in Heaven, that you would go with him, if only because you thought you could make him come back to us. And his temper would have destroyed you. That was his downfall. He had no self-control and never knew what to do with his anger and jealousy. He let it mold him.”

“Please stop.” Pain wells inside me, squeezing my stomach in knots, gripping my chest and making it harder to breathe.

“I don’t think that you’ve done anything to warrant the suffering you’re letting yourself endure now,” Dad says. “You’ve had enough. A thousand years in Hell, dealing with Lucifer…”

“And feeling the pain my leaving caused my brothers,” I moan. “I went back to Heaven and… I felt them, Michael and Raphael. I hurt them, so much—so much that I should rot. They did what they thought they had to, with no help from me, while I ate candy and had sex. They thought I was dead. They grieved me.”

“What’s done is done—”

“Stop saying that!” A surge of anger makes me sit up and push Him away. “For You it’s okay, because You’re You. But me? No, no, no… I was supposed to be there. I was. They shouldn’t have had to mourn me like that. You didn’t feel their grief, their love. And to know what they both became after…”

Dad’s eyes burn blue. Probably furious at being shoved aside like a human. He could smite me, but I don’t care. “I just want them back…” Tears wet my face and my shoulders shake as I weep. I hate crying. It makes me seem even weaker, more pathetic, worthless, useless… but I can’t stop it, even when I can’t breathe.

Arms wrap around me, holding me tight. “It’s okay, little angel.”

Little angel. As far as I know, I’m the only one called a pet name by God. And it was because my brothers were so much bigger than me for centuries. I was the last He raised. I sob into his chest like a small child, letting my pain and suffering roll through me. It seems an eternal waterfall of despair.

It only stops when my lungs seize and I attempt to cough them up. Dad holds me, rubbing my back until I can breathe again. I rest against him, sniffling, hiccuping, coughing occasionally. His vessel is warm, the voice gentle as it tells me, “It’s going to be all right, little angel. Father will fix it for you.”

I fall asleep to that old song he’d hummed when I really was a little angel, one who believed that Father could fix anything.

Wish I still believed that, but this is a start.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel

 

            God is in the kitchen making breakfast food.

            Dean, Sam, Mary and Jack are in the kitchen with Him, probably eating His food and asking Him questions about His plans to save Heaven and if He’s going to help with our Michael problem. He’d been vague about the Other Michael, brushing off questions, His primary concern being Gabriel, the start of Raphael’s resurrection, and his future journey to the Cage to retrieve this world’s Michael.

            I sit in Gabriel’s room, watching the archangel sleep. The summons had stolen most of his energy away, and he won’t let God heal his body or grace. I’m not surprised after how I’d found him in Heaven. He wants punishment.

            A knock at the door, and then Sam pokes his head in.

            “Hey, Chuck wants you to wake Gabriel up and bring him to breakfast.” He enters. “I can do it, and bring him, if you… you know.”

            I know.

            “He knows you’re avoiding Him,” Sam says.

            Of course He does. Everyone knows. “Does He command my presence?”

            “No,” Sam says. “Only Gabriel’s.”

            Only Gabriel’s. Only Michael’s or Raphael’s or Lucifer’s. It had only bothered me that I’d never spoken directly to my Father after I met the Winchesters, after I switched sides. It had been the natural way of things, before then. The archangels passed Father’s words to us. They were His Hands, Eyes, Ears, and Voice when it came to us. Stronger, special, best-loved. There was no jealousy of that within our ranks. We looked up to the archangels without question, even when they fought amongst themselves.

            But what would it have been like if some of that attention had been given to us, to me? How is it to be favored? God is choosing to revive Raphael and heal Michael, because it pleases Gabriel. He wouldn’t do that for me, wouldn’t do it for Sam or Dean. Instead, He’d sent us to rescue Lucifer, His favorite, and a warrior He could depend on. I saw God’s love for Lucifer while he and I shared this vessel. I see His love for Gabriel, His heartbreak that Gabriel wants to be in pain.

            “Cass?”

            “I’ll wake him up, Sam. It’s all right.”

            “Okay.” Sam disappears from the doorway and I reach out to give Gabriel a light shake.

            He moans and burrows under the blankets. I shake him again. “Gabriel, Father requests your presence.”

            This makes him roll over onto his back, eyes fluttering open. He stares at the ceiling for a while before he shifts his gaze to me. “Does He want to tell me He’s leaving to save Michael?”

            “I…” I blink. “I think He wants you to eat the food He’s made.”

            Gabriel rolls his eyes and closes them again. “Not hungry.” He pulls the blanket back over his head.

            I stare. “You’re going to defy God over breakfast?”

            “Yup, mmhmm.”

            Only an archangel would/could dare. But “What’s the point of it?” I ask. “This isn’t a battle to pick.”

            “It is when you feel like crap,” Gabriel says from under the blanket. “Everything hurts and I don’t want to get up.”

            “You know what Father will say to that,” I say.

            Gabriel sighs and quiets enough to make me think that he’s gone to sleep again.

            “I think He also just wants to talk to you,” I offer. “He… He’s different than I’ve known Him to be. He’s… with Sam and Dean, He’s pleasant, friendly. With Lucifer, He was stern, but He… it was obvious He cared. But now, He seems…” More like a parent, like Mary. She fusses and frowns so that her eyes crinkle, she says the names ‘Sam’ and ‘Dean’ with a soft inflection—the tone of love. A light comes on in Chuck that I’ve never noticed before when He mentions Gabriel.

            Gabriel groans and sits up slowly, seeming winded at the simple action. He swallows with a grimace. “He really wants me to come to breakfast?”

            I nod.

            He groans louder and shifts to get out of bed. I reach to assist him, steadying him as he wobbles slightly. He coughs for a solid minute, doubling over as I support him.

            “Are you all right?” I ask.

            He nods, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m good. I gotta do some human hygiene stuff, though. My mouth tastes like something died in it.” I let him go as he straightens, but he turns back to frown at me.

            “What?” I ask, concern making me reach for him again. “You said you were all right.”

            He shrugs. “Come with me?”

            “To the bathroom?” I ask. “But you…”  
            “I’m not gonna get naked or anything.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Just wash my face and stuff. But uh… I don’t… I don’t want to walk into the kitchen by myself, so…”

            “What will I do while you wash up?” Dean, Sam and Jack have never asked me to come into the bathroom with them. I’m very sure they would think it strange.

            “Talk?” Gabriel shrugs. “I…” He sighs, eyes darkening. “I don’t know what to say to Him, you know. What do you say to Him?”

            What do I say to God? A father I never had a relationship with? “Nothing,” I say. “I have nothing to say, or ask. I’ve… been staying away from the rooms He occupies.”

            “You can get away with that,” Gabriel mutters. “He’d come find me.” He flinches and bites his lip, wide eyes studying me. “I’m sorry. I… This has gotta be hard for you too, especially since…”

            “I’ve never spoken to Him, aside from when I was possessed by Lucifer?” I ask. “You’re right. I’m not one of God’s favorite sons. His only concern right now is for you. He doesn’t request my presence, or cook meals for me.”

            Gabriel stares at me. “Do you… want Him to? If you told Him—”

            “I don’t think I should have to tell Him,” I say. “But then again, He doesn’t know me as He knows you.” I frown at Gabriel’s expression. His mouth is downturned and his eyes are bright—is he pitying me? “And it’s fine. Why should I want a father now?”

            “Because He’s here,” Gabriel says. “And you should know Him. He should make it a point to get to know you, after all you’ve done. You’ve saved His creation, multiple times. You’ve done more to help Him than any of His ‘favored’ sons.”

            I watch Gabriel’s face shift from pity to anger. His eyes spark blue and he marches out of the room, not heading toward the bathrooms, but the kitchen… where God is. I’m stunned still for a moment, before jogging after him. What’s he going to do? What is he…?

            I enter the kitchen a second after Gabriel does, to see Chuck turning around from the stove. He’s wearing an apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook’ He has a spatula in one hand and pan with a golden-brown pancake simmering in sugary butter in the other. He beams at Gabriel.

            “There you are—what’s wrong?”

            “You’re ignoring Castiel,” Gabriel says bluntly.

            Chuck looks flabbergasted. “What? He’s… No, he’s ignoring me.” His blue eyes land on me, and I, for lack of a better word, squirm. “What are you telling Gabriel, Castiel?”

            “Uh-uh,” Gabriel butts in. “You don’t get to do that. He’s socially awkward. So, I’ll talk. He thinks that You don’t cate about him, because You’ve never shown it.”

            Chuck blinks at Gabriel, mouth falling open, then He looks at me. “Is that true?”

            “Uh…”

            “Yes, it’s true,” Gabriel presses on. “And You did treat the others like crap. You never talked to them. You sent them messages through us. I never thought about how messed up that was until now, especially the part where they all thought it was okay for You to never appear to them. You practically created them fully-grown, so they wouldn’t need to be raised, just indoctrinated, and _we_ could do that—well, Michael could. The only ones of them You gave personal time to were Joshua and that douche-nozzle Metatron.” Gabriel sneers. “I never liked him. Always rubbed me the wrong way.”

            “He described your music as divine punishment,” I can’t help but add.

            “There it is. Jerk,” Gabriel says with a grunt, then brings his attention back to Chuck, Who’s still staring, incredulous.

            “Gabriel.” Chuck raises a silencing hand and Gabriel actually stops talking. “I want to hear from Castiel.” He looks at me. “Do you think I don’t care about you, or any of your brethren?”

            I swallow hard before answering. “I… I don’t know. You abandoned us all to dark times and let us die when You could have helped. I’d never heard Your voice until a few years ago. Yet, there are people You did show Yourself too.”

            “Castiel, I resurrected you,” Chuck says. “More than once.”

            “To help Sam and Dean do what You needed them to do,” I say.

            “Yes, I did have an ulterior motive, but I believed you could carry out the task and succeed, and so, instead of finding someone else to assist Sam and Dean, I raised you.” Chuck says, giving me a weak smile. “You’ve made me very proud, son.”

            “That’s the first time You’ve called me that,” I murmur. And it sounds strange, alien. God called me ‘son’ and said that He was proud; that He’d trusted me with responsibilities, as He’d once done Michael and Lucifer—a way He showed love and favor.

            “Won’t be the last time I call you ‘son’ either,” Chuck says. “And I mean that. I watched you grow and change the more you interacted with Sam and Dean, saw you blossom without any guidance or nudging from Me. I had hoped you’d inspire more of your brethren to join you, but sadly, most weren’t ready.”

            “What about Anna?” I breathe. “Why didn’t You save her?” Her loss still hurts as if it’s just happened. Dean makes a soft noise—he’d had a relationship with Anna.

            “I helped her as much as I could without revealing myself, but her part in the story had come to an end.”

            “Life isn’t a book,” I murmur.

            “Isn’t it?” Chuck says absently. He uses the spatula to scoop the done pancake onto an empty plate on the bar. The golden-brown disc is so large it covers the entire plate. He pours the sugary butter from the pan over it, and slathers it with whip cream from a can. As He spoons chocolate chips into the cream, Sam clears his throat.

            “Um, Chuck, maybe You should tell them what Your plans are for today.”

            “Oh, yes.” Chuck puts the bowl of chocolate chips down and gives Gabriel a sharp look, motioning for him to take the pancake. Gabriel scrunches his nose, but pulls up a bar stool in front of the plate and sits down.

            “So, today, I’m venturing down to the cage to see about Michael,” Chuck says. “I can’t just let him out, obviously, so I’ll start the healing process below.”

            “How long will it take?” Gabriel asks. He pokes at the pancake with a fork and stirs the whip cream in a circle.

            “I don’t know yet,” Chuck says. “I have to assess the damage.”

            “Which would have been less, if You’d pulled him out when…”

            A warning look and Gabriel quiets.

            “Eat,” Chuck says.

            “I don’t want it,” Gabriel says simply. “There’s zucchini in it.”

            Chuck blinks, incredulous seems to be His go-to expression when it comes to Gabriel. “What?”

            “Zucchini. You blended zucchini into the batter… and there’s carrots too.” Gabriel pokes at the pancake with an index finger, analyzing its content. I want to scold him for using power on something so frivolous, but… well, God’s here. He should scold him.

            “Did you taste it?” Chuck asks.

            “I don’t put vegetables in my mouth on purpose.”

            “Taste it,” Chuck says, sounding exasperated. God—exasperated. Had He sounded like that with Lucifer? No, He’d been calm, even condescending, at times; He’d never sounded like a parent dealing with an unruly child.

            “My insides will rot.”

            A chuckle makes me, Gabriel and Chuck gaze over at the humans in the room with us. It’s too easy to forget they’re here with God in the room, even when they speak up or make noise. Mary puts a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkling.

            “Sorry,” she says.

            “Gabriel.” Chuck pinches the bridge of His nose as if He has a nonsense headache. “Just taste it. Everyone else likes it.”

            “And if everyone else jumped off a bridge…” Gabriel sing-songs, spearing a bite of pancake. He shoots Chuck a mischievous grin and nibbles the edges of the pancake as Chuck stares at him.

            “Well?” Chuck asks.

            Gabriel makes a face. “Zucchini, carrots, and protein powder.”

            “But does it taste bad?” Chuck presses.

            Gabriel appears to consider it, tilting his head this way and that. “No.”

            “So—”

            “It’s just the principle of the thing—mixing veggies and vitamins in stuff they don’t go in. It’s a crime against pancakes, against syrup, against—”

            “Your vessel needs the nutrients,” Chuck says, tone bewildered. Gabriel has stumped God. “Please eat.”

            Please?

            Unbelievable.

            “What’s my consolation?” Gabriel asks.

            “Consolation? I’m raising Raphael and healing Michael. You—”

            “You’ll spend time with Castiel?” Gabriel says.

            Chuck lets out a loud breath and throws His hands up in the air. “If that makes you eat.”

            And Gabriel picks up the large pancake and takes a hearty bite. He chews with a smile. "Thanks, Dad.”

            Chuck is speechless. I look around the room, Sam, Dean, Mary, Bobby and Jack are watching, none of them eating or drinking.

            “Good?” Chuck asks, a glass of chocolate milk appearing in His hand. He sets it down in front of Gabriel who takes it and sips.

            “Delicious, actually. Wow, Big G, you can cook.” He winks at God and laughs at the hopelessly frustrated look on Chuck’s face.

            “You…” Chuck says, “…are such a brat.” His voice is full of wonder, and then—His blue eyes twinkle and a smile spreads across His face. “I’ve missed you, little angel.” He reaches out, placing a hand on top of Gabriel’s head, planting a kiss in his hair.

            Little angel?

            Dean clears his throat. “Um, sorry to interrupt Your weird family bonding thing, but uh… we wanted to discuss another issue with You. Now that You’ve finished flipping pancakes and pep-talking Your little angels.”

            “I’m the only little angel here, thank you very much,” Gabriel says, sucking whipped cream off his thumb. He grins at Dean and Dean doesn’t glare at him as he would have only a month before. Instead, Dean shakes his head, and moves on.

            “We’ve got an alternate world angel problem,” Dean says. “I’m sure You sense it, and maybe even know about it.”

            “I haven’t been here to know about it long,” Chuck says. “You sound like you think I watched you tear the fabric between dimensions and displace beings I created.”

            “Did You?” Sam pressed.

            “No,” Chuck says. “But I did sense it as soon as I got here.”

            “Will You help us cage him or kill him?” Sam asks. “Or… maybe he needs some kind of mental healing—like our Michael…”

            “No, no mental healing,” Dean snarls. “That dude’s just twisted—like Lucifer. He has to die or He won’t stop trying to destroy things to get back… at You.” Dean’s eyes rest on Chuck. “He hates You.”

            Chuck nods. “I know.”

            “Even Lucifer never hated You,” Dean says. “But Michael never shared with me what You did to him. He didn’t share much of anything, but I felt…” Dean’s gaze is faraway. “When the emotions were strong, I felt them—and sometimes, things were attached to them. Not actual memories, but I sensed things. Like when he was thinking about You—and he thought about You a lot. And whenever he did, I felt hate and rage so deep that…” He breaks off, swallowing as if he might be sick.

            Chuck sighs. “That Michael… He never should have been. That whole world was…” He trails off, frowning at Bobby—a person from the world in question.

            “My world is what?” Bobby grouses.

            Chuck straightens, eyes steely all of a sudden, as He meets Bobby Singer’s glare. “It was a mistake, a gamble in probability that I lost. If you boys—” He frowns at Sam and Dean “had left well enough alone, that place would have taken care of itself.”

            “Taken care of itself?” Bobby’s voice raises. “You mean, Michael would have taken care of it, killing off all of us human folk and letting the monsters kill off each other when they got hungry enough, and then what?”

            “Eventually, the angels would have killed each other as well,” Chuck says. “That batch went so badly.”

            “That batch?” Gabriel stops eating.

            My stomach churns—like a human’s. “What do You mean by that?”

            Chuck gives a heavy sigh and takes off the apron—good. It’s hard to take the Creator of the Cosmos seriously in an apron. He grabs a stool and pulls it to the other side of the bar so He can sit across from us—Gabriel and me.

            “There were some other worlds, a few before this one, and a few after,” Chuck says. “The first two were boring. They were ones Amara liked—no creatures, no angels, no people. The next, I made some things—just experimenting. Then came this world, where I made you, My angels. And I liked you and this world; so, I kept going. I made creatures and man. And I had never been so pleased—and Amara… well, you know that story.”

            “Then Lucifer…” Chuck rubs His temples. “It was hard to watch how everything went from being the best I’d ever created to Armageddon. And I wanted to fix it.”

            “But instead of fixing it for real, dealing with us, You—” Gabriel’s eyes grow bright. “You made another world and made us again, and tried to fix it there by changing us up! Wh-what did You change about me? What didn’t You like that You had to change?”

            Gabriel shoves the pancakes away, jumping to his feet and gripping the table. His body trembles, but not with chills or weakness. Any second something might catch fire.

            “Gabriel…” Chuck reaches out to touch him, but Gabriel backs away.

            “Did You call him ‘little angel’ too?” Gabriel demands. “Did Your eyes light up when You saw him?”

            “Calm d—”

            “Did You?” Light bulbs blow out overhead and we’re encased in darkness, for a moment before the room restores itself.

            Chuck gets up, going around the bar to Gabriel, who might be trying to run away, but he seems stuck in place. He places his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders, looking into his eyes. “No, I didn’t. I never called him ‘little angel,’ because he wasn’t you. I couldn’t… He wasn’t like you at all.”

            “Because You made him responsible, serious? Someone You thought could help out, pull his weight? You could have made me do that too! I never—You never trusted me with anything, except, except when You wanted me to kill my brother!”

            “I didn’t want you to do the things your brothers did. Didn’t want you to change. I wanted you to keep making me smile. But I wondered, if I could have had that had even if I treated you more like the others. The answer was no. You are My perfect Gabriel, and your brothers were My perfect Michael and My perfect Raphael. I knew that though. What I really wanted was—”

            “To make a perfect favorite son. You wanted a better Lucifer.”

            Chuck breathes through His nose. “I wanted to see what he’d have been like had I not pressured him so much, not made him take the Mark of Cain. And I thought, while I’m playing out this scenario, I can change My interactions with you and Michael and Raphael, just to see. I… made them with different intentions. Michael seemed to want more responsibility, to be the only leader, so I gave it to him. Raphael, I gave a room of books and the solitude he wanted. Gabriel—I… he wasn’t you. I couldn’t. And Lucifer, I doted on. I gave him what he said I didn’t.”

            Gabriel’s face is stony. I don’t know what my face looks like, but I can’t take my eyes off of God.

            “And then I watched Michael terrorize the other angels, hate man for being imperfect—he became Lucifer. And Lucifer? His pride was so wounded from Michael having so much power over him that he still waged war, only he recruited other angels to his cause instead of falling and creating demons. The end result, Lucifer, Gabriel and Raphael were dead, Michael reigned, and he turned his wrath on humanity.”

            “And where were You when this was happening?” Gabriel asks.

            “On Earth, but I could see,” Chuck says. “And then, I left to…”

            “Start over again?” Gabriel shouts. “How many times did You try to fix us?”

            “Too many.” Chuck closes his eyes. “I had it right the first time. I had you all right… the problem…”

            The problem? I narrow my eyes, waiting.

            “Was Me.”

            A gasp from Sam… a gasp from me. God admitted fault. He wouldn’t fully do that for Lucifer without constant, careful nudging. But for Gabriel, there it is.

            “Are You still trying to fix us, now that You know?” Gabriel asks, voice trembling.

            Chuck shakes His head. “I gave up on that a long time ago.”

            “Do You regret it?” Gabriel’s voice is a whisper.

            Chuck looks at the ceiling, then back at Gabriel. “I regret leaving you and your brothers behind. I should have—we should have gone to make those new worlds together.”

            “All of us?” I break in. Was He talking about all of the angels, or just the archangels? I won’t be hurt, won’t be surprised, won’t…

            Chuck is quiet.

            Just the archangels then. My heart breaks like I thought it wouldn’t… but knew it would.

            “I should have eased Lucifer into the idea of humans, and not been so high-handed about bowing to them. None of you liked that idea. The Mark of Cain I could have cast off and cleansed him of. I should have just _talked_ to Amara. I think about time-travel now. I should just go back and fix it.

            “Then You take the chance of having so many lovely things never happen,” Gabriel says. “My beautiful bloodlines…”

            Chuck blinks, then laughs slightly, patting one of Gabriel’s shoulders and releasing him. “You really are my joy.” But then His blue eyes come to me. “And Castiel, you are my hope. Will you let me repair your wings?”

            My heart leaps and flutters.

            My wings. My power levels would be restored. I’d be able to fly again, to whisk my friends to safety or take them where they need to be quickly. I’d be the powerful angel who’d first joined their team. I’d be able to instruct Jack as Gabriel does—well, maybe not exactly as he does, but it’ll be something.

            “Yes, please.”

            God’s hand touches my back and heat shoots across my shoulders and down the length of my back. I arch, unable to contain a yowl. The pain is like popping several muscles out of joint and then snapping them all back in at once—I’d had the displeasure of popping a shoulder out of joint when I’d been human. A tremendous release of pressure explodes through the skin of my back. I almost fall to my knees, but God’s hands keep me steady. He holds me, supports me, all the while looking into my eyes. His glow with power, but His smile is—His smile is love.

            Father loves me.

            “Wow, Cass!” Jack’s voice is awed.

            I hear them before I look over my shoulder—feathers, gray and white feathers, quiver behind me—my wingspan several feet on either side. They furl to fit in the cramped space. Sam and Dean move to give them more room as they gape.

            I feel gentle hands on my wings—Jack strokes them with wetness in his eyes. He gazes at God.

            “Will I ever have these?” he asks.

            God frowns at Jack and nervousness shifts in my stomach. Father hadn’t so much as said Jack’s name in the short time He’d been here. Hadn’t really looked at him. Hadn’t asked much. Jack, a forbidden Nephilim, son of Lucifer, the Devil.

            “No,” God says. The glow in His eyes fades and He’s Chuck once again. “Nephilim don’t have wings. Nephilim should walk as men, but do greater things because they have the best of both worlds within them.”

            Jack raises his chin. “I do?”

            “You have the empathy of man, paired with the grace of Heaven,” Chuck says. “My angels try to emulate that empathy.” Chuck glances at me, then at Gabriel. “They _can_ love strangers, but they struggle. They’re too like Me. We are deities and that is our flaw. We need to be personally invested in a cause to deem it worthy. But mankind is open, generous, and free to love blindly. My beautiful earthly creatures. You are a union of two creations I love, Jack.”

            “But…” I start.

            But Chuck cuts me off. “I never outlawed Nephilim. I wasn’t there to do so.”

            Gabriel shrugs. “He wasn’t. There was no law about Nephilim when I was home. But then again, vessels were kind of a new thing. I guess I was gone before angels starting rolling around with humans and making babies. And if I was gone, then You were definitely MIA too, Dad.”

            Chuck spares Gabriel an amused look, and points at his food. “Finish that.”

            “So, the Nephilim laws, and the exterminations that happened under orders, were from…”

            “Michael or Raphael,” Chuck says.

            Gabriel flinches and pushes his plate away again.

            “And You’re bringing Raphael back from the dead and taking Michael out of the cage to run Heaven again?” Dean asks. He shoots a sympathetic look in Gabriel’s direction before continuing. “Is that a good idea? I might be in the party that votes that Heaven is better with fewer archangels, especially douche-bag ones. I mean, You and Gabe could just run that place. It’d be better.”

            “I don’t want to run Heaven,” Gabriel mutters.

            “You wouldn’t run it,” Dean says. “You’d just help Him. And you could come down and see us, and... saving the world will be easy, because Chuck there will keep it out of peril for a change.”

            I gaze at Dean, noting the new lines in his face, the exhaustion in his posture. It shows more and more over the years. It saddens me.

            “What makes you think He’s staying?” Gabriel asks.

            “He just said this is the best world. And He obviously wants to be around you and Cass. Why wouldn’t He stay?” Dean says. He glares at Chuck. “Why wouldn’t You stay?”

            Chuck sighs. “Amara is waiting for Me. I told Her I would return to Her side. She will come to check on Me, if I stay gone too long.”

            “Yeah, but what’s ‘too long’ to You?” Dean asks.

            Chuck shrugs. “I don’t plan on being here for longer than it’s needed to raise Raphael and heal Michael, Dean. I owe it to Amara to be Her companion.”

            “Don’t you owe it to them to stay and be their father?” Mary cuts in. “You don’t know Castiel at all, and Gabriel needs You.”

            Chuck gives Mary an indifferent look. “Didn’t my sister bring you back to life as a ‘thank you’ to Sam and Dean for reuniting Her with Her estranged brother?”

            “Are You making threats, Chuck?” Sam asks, a subtle growl in his voice.

            Chuck shrugs, the indifference still there. “I’ll be gone most of the day. I just needed to see Gabriel eat something.” He raises a brow at the half-eaten pancake, then at Gabriel. “Is that the best you can do?”

            Gabriel scowls at the remaining food and Chuck sighs. “A shower and back to bed then.” Chuck glances at me. “Will you continue watching over him?”

            I nod.

            “Good,” Chuck says. “Well…” He snaps his fingers and the breakfast dishes disappear, probably all washed and returned to their cabinet. The stove-top is spotless and a sports bottle sits in front of Gabriel.

            “That’s vitamin water,” Chuck says. “It’s sweet and I want you drinking it. There’s more in the fridge. I expect it to be gone when I get back.”

            Gabriel pouts as Chuck waves and silently vanishes as if He’d never been in the kitchen. The only trace of God left is vitamin water that I’m probably going to have to force Gabriel to drink.

            “What an asshole,” Bobby grounds out.

            I can’t agree with Bobby right now. I smile lightly as Jack’s fingers run over my wings again. Father called me ‘hope’ and restored my wings, and with them, my power. He’s proud of me, and… I watch Gabriel unscrewing the lid from the sports bottle and sniffing his drink… Father left me in charge of an archangel—granted I’m just a babysitter or nurse—but it says a lot.

            I retract my wings, relishing the feel of my full power circulating through my vessel. I didn’t know how much I missed this feeling. If Otherworld Michael showed up now, I could protect my friends from him, send them away. If demons came to attack, I can take the majority of them on by myself.

            “Feeling good, Cass?” Dean asks.

            I smile at him. “Yes.”

            “That’s one good thing, then,” Dean grumbles. “I remember when Chuck was an okay guy. Now, He’s…” Dean trails off, eyes on me. He looks slightly nervous.

            Am I making a face?

            “Cass, you can’t let the fact that He fixed your wings reshape your entire opinion of Him,” Sam says. “How long have your wings been broken? He could have fixed them a long time ago. Or He could have stopped what happened to break them. It’s all too little too late. And now, He says He’ll repair Heaven by restoring a couple of archangels instead of staying on Himself.

            “I asked Him to restore those archangels,” Gabriel mutters.

            Sam sighs. “Why though? I mean…”

            “Chill, Sam,” Dean says, eyes on Gabriel now.

            “I know you’re grieving, hard,” Sam ignores Dean, “but…your brothers were…. Look, I didn’t know your big plan was archangel rescue and resurrection before Chuck came. I wish you would have talked to us first.”

            “I don’t understand why you think my decision has anything to do with you,” Gabriel says coolly. “Be glad that Heaven will be saved.”

            “And if your brothers decide to take revenge on us?” Dean asks, his tone gentle. “Then what? Because they hate us—Cass included. And what about Jack? They started the Nephilim law; and Jack isn’t the kid of just any old angel.”

            “I’ll intervene,” Gabriel says softly. “They’ll have to go through me.”

            “And if they do?” Sam presses, regret on his face.

            Gabriel runs a hand through his messy hair, then straightens up, his posture dripping with defiance. “Then I’ll die, but I’ll die standing up. That—it’d be enough for me.”

            “Gabe—”

            “But they won’t, you know,” Gabriel says, seeming to shrink, rubbing his arms. “They’re not like Lucifer. They might listen, because…” He bites his lip.

            “Lucifer loved you too—in his way—and he still knocked you down and was going to use his power to put you in his control. He was going to make you forget certain things to turn you to his side,” Sam says.

            A tear rolls down Gabriel’s cheek. He scrubs it away with a fist and pushes off his stool. “I’m gonna shower.”

            We watch him trudge away, steps heavy and tired.

            “Was that necessary?” Mary asks. “You could have said all of that to Chuck instead.”

            “But Chuck _listens_ to him, though,” Sam says. “Like really listens. You weren’t here when it was Him and Lucifer. He was like talking to a brick wall. I… I hated Lucifer, but… Him talking to Chuck was like…” 

            “Us talking to Dad only a million times worse,” Dean says. “But with Gabriel…” Dean shakes his head. “Lucifer was not exaggerating for once. Pet names? Hugs and kisses? Bargaining with him to just eat? I bet if Gabe really laid it on, Chuck might stick around—at least for our lifetime—to teach those asshole archangels how to treat people, for real this time. He could make Gabe the strongest one.”

            “We just have to convince Gabe he’s worthy enough to ask for all that,” Sam says.

            “And that he needs to ask for it,” Dean says. He sighs and hangs his head for a minute. When he looks up again, he seems resigned, eyes a million years old. “But it won’t happen. You see how he’s not letting Chuck fix his grace or get him over that bug? What Gabe thinks he needs to fix is beyond us.”

            “But…” Sam starts.

            “So long as that Other World Michael gets ganked,” Dean says, “I say let’s leave Gabe alone. I…trust him to handle what happens next.”

            Sam stares at Dean, and they do that thing where they talk without talking. Mary and Bobby watch, offering no input. Jack looks worried, but says nothing.

            Sam’s shoulders slump. “Fine. We’ll leave it. For now.”

            Dean doesn’t look satisfied, and I’m not sure if it’s because Sam agreed with him, or because Sam agreed with him for a limited time. Either way, Dean looks at me, hazel green eyes dark with weariness. “You wanna help me hunt up some Michael leads?”

            I smile, pleased to be asked and knowing that Dean just wants to ‘hang out’ with me. It’s been a while since he’s expressed such an interest. It’s usually Dean and Gabriel hanging out these days. I nod. “Yes, Dean.”

            I follow him out of the kitchen, hearing the start of a new conversation behind us—Bobby wants to know more about Sam’s interactions with Father, Mary wants to know if Jack would like to train with her in the gym. Dean leads me to the den he’d christened the ‘Dean Cave’.

            A pool cue flies in my direction and I catch it in one hand as Dean gets the table ready for a game. His face is serious as he racks the balls. “What’s your take on all this, Cass?” he asks suddenly.

            I come to the table, cue in hand. “On God? My brothers?”

            “All of it,” Dean says. “You think it’s a good idea for Michael and Raphael to come back? You think Chuck might have a plan to keep them in line before He runs off again? He’s got to, right? Because He’d want to protect…” Dean trails off, frowning at me.

            “Gabriel?” I fill in.

            “Yeah…and you,” Dean adds hesitantly, then clears his throat. “Hey, look, I know what it’s like to be overlooked by your dad in favor of another brother. My dad was so proud of Sam for being so smart. Sam will tell you the opposite, but he didn’t see what I did. The old man’s eyes lit up when Sammy came into a room, and he talked about him being in college like it was his idea for Sam to go. He never said my name the way he said Sam’s.”

            He nods at the pool table. “You break.”

            I frown at him, while lining up my first shot. “God was someone I never knew, Dean. I suppose it would hurt more if…if I was around Him all the time and was ignored.” I tilt my head, studying Dean. “You felt ignored?”

            Dean shrugs. “Didn’t matter though. Sammy deserved that attention from Dad. I mean, he never really had a mom or memories of living in a real house with a dad that worked a regular 9-to-5. And he’s a genius. He should be celebrated for all the stuff he didn’t get to do, like start law school, be a big-time lawyer, have a trophy wife on his arm who’s just as smart as he is. I invested in Sammy too, Cass. Bet Dad was jealous at the way _I_ looked at Sam.”

            “Or the way Sam looked at you,” I say, taking a shot. Two balls roll into the same pocket. I line up another. “You both had someone else—each other. I had someone else—my brethren.”

            “But Gabriel told the truth just now,” Dean says, leaning on his pool cue. “It hurts you that Chuck didn’t seek you out. When He first touched down, He demanded to know where Gabe was and threw you out of the room, so He could sit in there with him. And He didn’t ask where you were when He took His morning walk, or mention wanting you to come to the kitchen for breakfast. He just wanted you to bring Gabriel.”

            “Because everyone knew I wanted to avoid Him,” I say, but hurt flares in my chest.

            “He could have asked that you come to the kitchen with Gabriel, and He could have smiled at you both when you came in. You didn’t feel jealous then?”

            “I did…”

            “But you were willing to let Gabe do your talking, because you’re not comfortable enough talking to Chuck.”

            “He’s God.”

            “And your dad,” Dean says. “He said a lot of nice stuff about you and did a nice thing for you, but with all that ‘fixing’ He’s doing for Gabriel, do you think He’s going to do more for you?”

            “I…”

            He did say He was proud, that I am hope. Hope could make me a favorite in His eyes too. Can I ask Him to do something for me, aside from healing my wings? Will He listen?

            “I don’t know.”

            But I want to find out. The questions is: “What should I ask for, if He does?” It can’t conflict with what Gabriel needs. I can’t compete with him, and I don’t want to.

            “Chuck’s gotta stay a while, Cass,” Dean says, eyes shuttered.

            I miss my next shot, staring at Dean. “But He said—”

            “You gotta ask Him to stay. You both gotta ask Him to stay,” Dean says. He sighs and looks at his pool cue, lining up a shot. Before he slides the cue through his fingers, he looks up at me. “I think it might be our only chance at getting some peace, Cass. God has to stay.”

            He clears the table as I watch, thinking, worrying… hoping…

            …that Father will stay.

            “I’ll talk to Gabriel,” I say.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean

 

            I knock on Gabriel and Cass’s door and wait for Gabriel to answer. Cass came out thirty minutes earlier, claiming he needed air, then vanished in a flap of wings. I wondered when he was gonna try those things out. It was nice of him to wait until after he’d spoken to Gabriel about what I said, though I could tell it didn’t go well from Cass’s expression. Cass isn’t good at hiding annoyance—if he ever tries to hide it.

            I knock one more time, before opening the door and poking my head in. I don’t know what I expected, a sleeping angel, a glaring angel, but what I get makes me blink. Gabriel sits cross-legged on his bed playing a fighting game on a flat screen television that takes up a wall on a brand-new gaming station, a VR helmet on his head, goggles over his eyes and power gloves on his hands. Jab-punch-thrust.

            “Where the Hell did all this come from?” I ask.

            Gabriel’s head jerks toward me and the game pauses. He takes the gloves off first, then the helmet, hair a hot mess. “What do you want?” he asks. He looks defensive, eyes guarded, corners of his mouth downturned.

            I gesture at the TV and games instead of answering his question. He needs to answer mine first.

            “Where do you think?” Gabriel asks. “Dad wants me to stay in bed. Well, this is a good way to keep me here.”

            “So, what? He’s Santa Claus now? You get new toys on the hour?” I glance around the room, noting the new magazines, tablet, large sketch pad and pencils, and a friggin’ keyboard spread over a now king-sized bed that takes up half of the room. Castiel’s simple armchair in the corner is a plush, black La-Z-Boy recliner. A mini fridge is perched near the bed. I go to it, opening it up to view racks of candy bars and bottles of that vitamin water.

            Wonder keeps me from slamming the fridge door shut, but anger has me stealing one of Gabriel’s candy bars. I rip the wrapper off a Milky Way bar and take a huge bite, needing to calm down. God could be killing Other World Michael, instead he’s bribing his kids with useless junk to try to make them forget He’s an asshole.

            “This was all here when I came back from the shower,” Gabriel says. “I’m not complaining.” But he doesn’t look happy.

            “You okay?” I ask, finding a place to sit on the bed and picking through the magazines, the new issue of _Busty Asian Beauties_ sits on top of the pile. God zapped a copy of _Busty Asians_ into an archangel’s hands… but I’ve seen weirder things.

            Gabriel shrugs, then says, “I know what you want, and you know better than to beat around the bush with me.”

            “That’s fair.” I toss down the magazine and look at him. “What are you gonna do?”

            “I’ll ask Him to stay,” Gabriel says flatly. “And He’ll say He can’t and we’ll argue, and He’ll still leave, and I’ll feel like crap.”

            “You really think that’s what’ll happen?” I raise a brow.

            “Why wouldn’t it be what happens, Dean? Because I’m that special to Him? He made other versions of me, because He must have thought I could be better. He had to fail multiple times, before He finally gave up and decided I was the best He was ever gonna get. Happy to be the prize you settled for, Dad. So, no, Dean. I think He’ll leave here and go back in time, like He mentioned, because He _can_ , and hey, maybe none of this will ever happen. Everything will be fixed and you and I will never have to meet. I don’t know what He’s going to do, can’t control it, no matter what you think. God does what He wants. He indulges me because my reactions interest Him. If I stop being interesting, He’ll move on.”

            “He dotes on you,” I say. I frown at Gabriel as he sits, picking thread from the sleeve of one of my old sweatshirts. He has plenty of his own clothes now, but he likes that old shirt—and I like it too, because he puts it on when he’s feeling especially down on himself. I’m not sappy Princess Samantha. I’m not good at reading emotions, so mood-clues are always helpful and needed. “Anybody can see He loves you. I bet He’d get all sad-eyed if you told Him what you just told me, and call you that pet name again and kiss your forehead. What are you, six? I thought He was gonna cut that pancake into bites for you.”

            Gabriel scowls at me, then after a few seconds, I win a chuckle. He sighs and puts the VR stuff on the night stand, then pulls his keyboard onto his lap. He plays a scale before he looks at me again. “Were you surprised that I asked for Michael and Raphael?”

            I roll my eyes. “No.” Not really. I’d ask for Sam, no matter what he’d done. I’d want to give him another chance. “But I know you understand why it’s not our favorite scenario. And—”

            “What if they’re pissed at me and don’t want to play nice?”

            I take a breath. “I don’t want them to hurt you the way Lucifer did, okay? It might even be worse coming from them.”

            Gabriel starts playing a song that sounds like a lullaby. He bows his head over the instrument, curls curtaining his face—he reminds me a little of Schroeder from _Peanuts_. I check out his new handheld game, picking it up and turning it over in my hands: Nintendo Switch. Makes me miss my old Game Boy, less buttons to figure out.

            The song continues, turning strange and morbid, and a sudden thought hits me. I drop the game and snatch the keyboard off his lap. “You want your brothers to hurt you.”

            No response, his head stays bowed, face hidden.

            “Chuck know that? Does Cass?”

            Nothing.

            “You really might be busted beyond repair,” I say, wanting him to look at me. “Like, seriously, maybe you need to be on something, because nothing anybody says to you really gets through!”

            I don’t know what to do now. I hit pay dirt and he’s not pushing back. Do I find Mia and have her come in? But Hell, he’s not gonna talk to her. Should I wait till Chuck gets back and corner Him? Will He listen and know what to do? But He can’t even force a healing on Gabriel.

            “Gabe, what if… If your brothers come here, and they’re not mad at you, will you be okay then? Will you let Chuck fix your grace, so you can get better?” My voice sounds weird—hopeless, because somehow, I know what he’s gonna say.

            “Everyone lets me off too easy,” Gabriel says softly. “Why is that? Is it because I’m expected to screw up, to be weak? If you don’t expect better, you can’t blame me, right? That’s not who I want to be.”

            “And that’s not who you are,” I say. “Didn’t you hear your dad tell you that you’re his ‘joy’, because of what you do for your people? You’re helping us save the world; you risked yourself to save Heaven.”

            “To atone,” Gabriel says. “And I’ve got a long way to go on that.”

            “G—”

            “Dean.” Green gold eyes practically glow as he lifts his head. “You can’t change the way I feel. No one can, so just let it be. I have to work through it. I’m sorry my plan isn’t yours and that you’re afraid of my brothers. I know I didn’t know them as you did, but you also don’t know them as I did.”

            I swallow, the warm memory of a much younger Gabriel and Raphael exploring a marketplace for the first time fresh in my mind. “I know a little.”

            “That little bit is a pinprick in my lifetime. I had hundreds of years with my brothers looking after me. The majority of my time spent with them was wonderful; it was just that last part. Time in Hell really puts your life in perspective.”

            I nod. “It does.” You have so much time to think about what you wasted, what you did wrong and how you’ll never be able to fix it. You dwell on crap better left buried.

            “Sometimes…” Gabriel starts, then shakes his head, pulling that long hair of his into another stupid man-bun. “Nothing.”

            “Sometimes what?” Because it’s not nothing, or he wouldn’t have started to say it. “Sometimes what, Gabe?”

            “I don’t want to say it anymore.”

            I lie back on his bed, pushing junk out of the way, and gaze at the ceiling. I hear him find his keyboard again. He plays random bits and pieces from stuff I think he’s making up as he goes. The guy’s talented—at music and avoidance. But I won’t push him anymore. It’s not how our relationship works.

            I drift off—having one of those dreams that could be real. In it, I walk to the kitchen and get a beer. I close the fridge door and head back to Gabriel’s room, wanting to see if he might talk some more…and open the door to see an archangel’s corpse, wing patterns burned into the ground, archangel blade through the chest.

            I jerk awake, sitting up, panting, heart-pounding. Gabriel’s voice calls my name.

            He's on his knees, eyes wide, as he stares at me. “Are you all right?” he demands.

            I grip one of his shoulders, looking him deep in those green eyes. “Gabe— _something what_? What were you gonna say?” Because I have an idea and I want to be wrong.

            His Adam’s apple trembles, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

            “You really want to know that bad?” he asks.

            “Would I ask this many times, if I didn’t?” I release his shoulder, worried.

            A pale smirk, then a sigh. He looks down at his fidgeting fingers moving like they’ve still got a mini-piano under them. “Back in Apocalypse World, I was prepared to sacrifice myself. My life for yours and Sam’s and Cass’s and the people here. For the first time, I wasn’t running. I was standing for something and I was going to die for it, just like no one thought I could. I didn’t want to die then, I was terrified, and that would have made it count even more.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Sometimes…” Green eyes meet mine again, bright and shiny like melting candle wax, as he gives a humorless laugh. “Sometimes, I think... It's just that, after we came back from Apocalypse World, Lucifer used me and then died while I was unconscious. I went to  Heaven and felt and saw how much I devastated my brothers. How much I disappointed the angels left behind. Saw the changes...” His voice breaks and a coughing fit doubles him over. I pat him on the back a few times until I’m sure he can breathe.

            I wish he’d let Chuck heal him. Nothing’s worth all this. I hate seeing friends suffer. It sucks, and this whole conversation is no good. I'm sorry I started it.

            “You know what?” I say. “It’s okay. You’re sick and already told me you don't feel like talking.”

            I’m about to go back to his mini-fridge to get him a bottle of vitamin water, when he continues, “Sometimes, I wish Luci hadn’t thrown me out of the way. I’d be dead now and all of this would be over.”

            The memory of the dream image of him dead on the floor of this room shakes me to my core. I flop back on the bed, water forgotten, feeling sick to my stomach. "You want to be dead?"

             "Sometimes."

             The keyboard music starts again and I turn my head to study the guy who'd cheerfully complained about vegetable puree in his pancakes only two hours ago. Forever a trickster--a master of deception--that I don't want to find dead. I've seen way too many corpses of friends I didn't save. But salt rounds and holy water can't fix this. The talks Gabe and I have are for me. I like having him as a sounding board, as somebody who tells me I'm fine, and not a failed son, or an idiot, or a loser. Talking keeps me from wanting to do bad things. 

            Talking might not be enough for Gabriel.

            But it's what I got right now.

            "Should I be scared that you're trying to find ways to off yourself?" I chance.

            He sighs and stifles another cough. "I'm too chicken to suicide, Dean. Don't worry about that."

            But letting yourself whittle away to nothing isn't suicide, right? I don't ask him. He probably wouldn't answer it anyway. But I can't just let it go with that. I need to hear something solid from him. Something that tells me I shouldn't ward him up in a panic room until we find some charm or spell to fix broken hearts. Hell, if we find that, we really could save the world forever, starting with me. 

           I stare at my angel-friend, the one almost as close to me as Cass, but for different reasons. Gabriel isn't my brother like Cass is, but he means a lot to me, and I have to help him. Just wish I knew how. Wish I knew too many things that I never will, and sometimes, it makes me want to find ways to off myself too. But then I think of Sam and Cass and Jack and Mom, and I don't. Who does Gabriel think of? His human families and us--maybe us. I hope us. I reach out one more time, tugging the baggy sleeve of his sweatshirt.

            "Will you promise to tell me when you're feeling sometimes-y?" I ask him, my voice husky and anxious. I don't want him to say 'no', but I'm afraid he will and then what?  

            A shrug from him. "I'll wear your shirt." He winks at me, a weak but genuine grin worming its way onto his tired face. I snort and punch him in the knee.

            The angel doesn't say anything else for hours, and I don't prod him. But I also don't fall asleep again, listening to the music and watching him play, until he kicks me out.

 

* * *

 

~*~

           

            Chuck returns after midnight, eyes red-rimmed, looking for whiskey. He enters my Dean-cave with a family-sized bag of pork rinds.

            “I come bearing gifts, if you’ll share that Jack Daniels,” He says.

            “Can’t You just make Your own?” I ask.

            “It’s not the same,” He admits. “There’s something about the mundane task of it being purchased from a store and later taken from a fridge that makes it taste better.” He sits beside me on the couch, frowning at the college football game I’ve been pretending to watch for the past hour.

            “How’re My kids?” Chuck asks casually, opening the pork rinds and holding the bag under my nose.

            I take them, if He’s giving them up, I’m not letting them go to waste. A steaming bowl of queso dip appears on the coffee table in front of me. I set the bag of snacks on the table and slide the bottle of JD across it to Chuck. I trust Him to come up with His own shot glass, though I doubt God has cooties, so it’s probably pretty safe to drink after Him if He chugs from the bottle.

            An iced beer mug appears in Chuck’s left hand and He pours with His right. “Dean, My kids?”

            “The ones You left here?” I ask, raising a brow at Him.

            Chuck rolls His eyes, but nods.

            “Cass is teaching Jack how to read Enochian and Gabriel’s playing one of those things You got him.”

            “I sense that he’s agitated,” Chuck says. “Did something happen?”

            I shake my head. “Nah, nothing aside from the fact that he wishes he died in Apocalypse World, so he won’t have to deal with all the crap weighing him down now.”

            Chuck knocks back His drink in three gulps and wipes His mouth with the back of His hand. “I know.” His voice is deceptively light, but nobody who doesn’t care drinks like that after hearing something heavy.

            I frown at Him.

            “Why do you think I’m resurrecting Raphael _and_ working with Michael?” Chuck asks with a weary sigh. “And let Me tell you that resurrecting Raphael is cake made from box mix compared to working with Michael. It’s all giving Me a headache, but if it might help pull Gabriel out of that blackhole he’s in now, I’ll keep at it.”

            “You…” I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at Chuck—the guy who just sat back and watched His kids fight to the death with the world He created falling down around His ears. “Why do You seem to love Gabriel more than You do the others? Are You sure Lucifer was Your favorite kid?”

            Chuck pours more whiskey and drinks deep, before He answers. “Gabriel’s the only one I didn’t directly screw up, Dean. He’s the one I just let be—and he struggled and made mistakes, but ultimately, he’s good. He learned appreciation and compassion on his own. He sees the beauty of the mundane. Of all of them, he is the one I’d _choose_ to sit on My throne. But he doesn’t want it, and I won’t force it on him.”

            “So, either Michael or Raphael’s gonna sit there, again. And You know what’ll happen.”

            Chuck shakes His head. “No, I don’t. I’m not going to impose anything on them either. I want… I want to see what they’ll do. If they’ll take care of their brother—and we’ll see from there.”

            “If they don’t take care of Gabe? If they hate him? Do You have a back-up plan or something?” I sit straighter. “Tell us, so we can be prepared to go to ground or something.”

            Chuck finishes all the whiskey and belches in a very un-Godly manner. “I work in mysterious ways, Dean. Therefore, there’s a lot I cannot reveal to you yet.”

            “Bullshit.”

            Chuck shoots me a dark look. “Watch your mouth, kiddo, and eat your snack. I’m going to go check on—”

            “Castiel?”

            He frowns.

            “You promised Gabriel that You’d spend time with Cass, and You know what? Cass would love it. He won’t ever say that he wants You to follow through on Your word to him, but he’d be…in Heaven.”

            Chuck sighs, but nods. “All right then. I’ll check in on Gabriel, and then go to see how Castiel and Jack are progressing in their studies. Perhaps, I can assist. I remember teaching My kids to read.” He scratches his head. “Strangely, it was Michael who had the hardest time, and Lucifer would sit and read with him for hours after a lesson.” He looks distant. “Lucifer… was My kindest son, at one point.”

            He clears His throat. “Goodnight, Dean.”

            “Yeah.” I watch Him head for the door, pondering His flashback and family story. I don’t want to see kiddie angel versions of Michael and Lucifer reading Golden Books, but I do. Innocent versions of monsters are surprisingly easy to picture when God tells their story. “Hey wait.”

            Chuck pauses in the doorway.

            “How did things go with Michael?” I should have asked before. Chuck had come in wrecked and had drunk all my liquor—that doesn’t usually equal good news.

            Chuck flashes me a quick grin. “I think I’ll be able to bring him to the bunker tomorrow.”

            Bring him...? 

            My brain blows a gasket, and my mouth drops open. “Wha…?”

            “I can’t leave him where he is,” Chuck says simply. “It’s not conducive to salvaging his mind. He’ll need a safe environment—and a room to himself. I saw a perfect room for him when I took my walk around the compound this morning. I’ve already added the necessary warding to keep him locked-in.”

            Chuck frowns at me, cocking His head to one side, His confusion obvious. “Didn’t I tell you this over breakfast?”

            I gape at Him. “No. I’d have remembered,” and I’d have said ‘Hell no.’    

            “Oh,” Chuck says. “Well.” He claps His hands together. “I’ll be bringing a guest for lunch tomorrow. You might want to be elsewhere from one to three PM. Goodnight, Dean!”

            A wave and He’s gone.

            I blink at the spot He’d been in, then look back to my pork rinds and cooling queso.

            Chuck-dammit.

            “Sam,” I bellow. Never mind that he’s halfway across the compound and it’s after midnight, so other people might be asleep. “Sam!”

            I grab my snacks, before running out of my cave to tell Sam about a new Apocalypse that dopey, uninformed people might dub a family reunion.

            I know better.

            “Sammy!

           

           

           


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel

 

            Father crafted and shaped Michael’s new vessel to look like one he’d had before Lucifer’s Fall. It’s of average height—though that height had been considered tall back in biblical times—and muscular, with broad shoulders, tan skin and straight black hair. Eventually, this man’s descendants travelled north to lands with less sun, and spawned pale-skinned, light-haired Europeans. Human evolution is a strange and interesting process to observe.

            I stare at the practically comatose archangel as he lies on a futon in the center of a holding rune etched into the stone floor. I lean in the doorway, keeping watch while Father makes dinner. He enjoys cooking and I like being the one He asks to watch over Michael when He wishes to step away. Gabriel is jealous, because Father never asks him, and in fact, forbade him from even coming down here. He doesn’t think Gabriel’s strong enough, but I am.

            I’m better than an archangel.

            I feel my restored power rustling inside me. I want to fly again. I’ve stretched my wings every day this week. I measure time now, by counting down from when my wings were healed: two days after the healing, Father brought Michael here. Four days after the healing, Michael stopped grunting and growling like an animal and the screaming began. I don’t know what was worse, the animalistic noises that spoke of the archangel losing all reason, or the hoarse, horrified screams of someone coming back to themselves and realizing the Hell they’ve been through. Six days after my first flight, Michael quieted.

            And on the seventh day, he rested—slept the deep sleep of the emotionally and physically exhausted. The bunker could fall down around him and I don’t think he’d wake.

            Vulnerable—the archangel Michael is weak and open, and I am trusted to guard him, to guard Gabriel.

            “Why do you always smile when you’re down here?”

            I start and turn at Jack standing behind me. He’s getting better at sneaking up on me—something Gabriel taught him.

            “You shouldn’t be down here, Jack,” I say. Father won’t even let Gabriel come, how had Jack…?

            “I just—I wanted to see him, this—your Michael,” Jack says. His eyes are pleading. “I—I need to see what Gabriel wants to save so badly. The only Michael I know is a monster, and from what Sam and Dean say, this angel doesn’t seem any better. And neither does the other one. But Uncle Gabe got so hurt when I asked—”

            “You spoke to him about Michael and Raphael?” I don’t know why fear takes me at Jack’s words—or maybe I do. Father does not like when someone upsets Gabriel. “Jack, you can’t…”

            “Only once,” Jack says, seeming to pick up on my tension in a way he never has before. He fidgets. “God asked me to stop. He… I was alone with Gabriel, and God appeared when Uncle started to cry. I—I think He may have been angry with me. He sent me away, and it… I was afraid and waited, and… now I’m here, because you are. I can ask you.”

            I feel sick inside. “Did you feel threatened by God?”

            Jack shrugs and looks at his feet. “I don’t know, but the look on His face wasn’t like the ones I’ve seen before. He looked like the scary person I read about in the Bible. The one that drowned bad people.”

            “He wouldn’t do that to you,” I say quickly. But what do I know? Jack isn’t favored. And look at what happened to the archangels, God’s favorites. I clear my throat, feeling my power, but not feeling as proud anymore to be favored.

            “Dean and Sam don’t like this Michael,” Jack says slowly. “He was going to cause an apocalypse, and he wanted Dean’s body. He took their brother Adam, and now Adam’s gone. He doesn’t love humans either. Is he really that different from the Other Michael?”

            I shudder, not wanting to think about Lucifer in Sam’s body, and Michael, about to bring about the end of the world as we all knew it. “This Michael, my brother, was following through on God’s initial plan. He was a devoted, loyal general who was able to set feelings aside when he had a job to do. He didn’t love, but nor did he hate, humans. I don’t think he would have started an apocalypse had it not been ordained.”

            “And Raphael?” Jack asks.

            Raphael… was a piece of work, as Dean would say.

            “Raphael had his own mind and agenda,” I say. “And at his end, he was not following God’s Will.”

            “But Gabriel wants him back,” Jack says, shaking his head. “Do you…”

            “Yes?”

            “Do you think he’d ask for Lucifer too?” Jack’s voice quakes. “Because if he does, God might—”

            I shake my head quickly. “No.” I don’t think God would bring back Lucifer, not even for an ocean of tears from the youngest archangel. But I also don’t want Gabriel to challenge my theory for fear that his ocean might sway God after all.

            Jack stares at me, then at Michael on the futon. “He doesn’t look scary.”

            “Not many do, when they sleep,” I say slowly. “And the fact that he sleeps is…”

            “Will he be sick like Uncle Gabe?” Jack asks.

            I ponder that. Time in Hell and Cages broke him, as it had Gabriel. When Michael wakes, would he be weakened? It would come as no surprise, but—a weak Michael. One I might be able to overcome now that my wings…

            I shake myself internally. No.

            I think about Gabriel’s purposeful displays of power in Heaven and with the Khourys.

            Even at his weakest, I don’t think I’d win against Gabriel—and Michael is the strongest archangel.

            My shoulders slump, and suddenly, I feel foolish.

            Had I really thought I was better than an archangel?

            I’m…

            I stand guard over Michael while Father makes dinner…for Gabriel. In Heaven, regular angels were foot soldiers, commoners, workers, not important. But still, Father healed me, called me hope. He talks to me, asks how I’m doing. But is it because Gabriel asked Him to do so?

           “I’ve upset you too,” Jack says slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I’ll go.”

           I want to reach out to Jack, to stop him from leaving. It’s not his fault, but… I step back.

           Michael’s hand twitches.

           “Cass?” Jack asks. I feel him move closer to me, until he’s at my back. “H-he—”

           Michael’s eyes flutter before opening, brown irises staring up at the runes carved into the ceiling.

            “Jack, go get Father,” I murmur. If He doesn’t already know Michael’s awake, He needs to be told. He needs to get down here, because I don’t know what Michael will do; what he’ll be like…

            Jack shudders, rooted in place.

            “Jack, do as I say!” I snap, satisfied when the boy jumps then nods and backs away, running through the hall toward the staircase leading up.

            I watch Michael as the archangel lies there, unmoving, unblinking. Is he catatonic? He’d been insane, deranged, a grunting, growling beast only days ago. Of course he’s not better. How can he be? God isn’t even sure if He can repair Michael’s mind.

            And I don’t know that I feel sorry about that. Michael would have ended half of this world. He would have seen Sam dead, and Dean a mindless husk. He cared nothing for me or my brethren. I doubt he knows my…

            “Castiel.”

            Name.

            His voice is a choked rasp from the throat of someone who’s screamed himself hoarse. His coughs are dry and wheezing, then, “Is it…it is you, Cas…stiel? But no. No. Lucifer killed you. After you burned me, I saw you die. Not here. You’re not here.”

            He mutters quickly, eyes still on the ceiling. He doesn’t see me, just feels my grace. Does he think I’m a ghost, a figment? I step into the room, crossing the runes on the floor, feeling the power of God’s work tingle over my body. Will I be trapped inside this room with Michael until Father comes to let me out?

            If Michael is still insane and he tries to kill me, it’ll be like one of the cage fights Dean watches on cable. Michael will rip me apart. Why did I enter the room? Sweat beads my forehead as I taste my own fear. Michael can kill me as easily as Lucifer had. Archangels don’t need blades.

            I stop beside Michael’s bed, peering down at him. His dark skin is flushed, his black hair matted with sweat, but his eyes are clear. They peel away from the ceiling runes and train on me, looking me up and down.

            “That vessel—the soul is gone,” Michael whispers. “The soul was not gone before…before…” He blinks slowly, whispering to himself, before he re-focuses on me. “You… you’re alive. You’re—you’re really here… with me. And here is not… is not…”

            He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving. “The smell… no sulfur. No blood. No ash. No demons.”

            “You are free from Hell, Michael,” I say, my voice steady but oddly pitched. I sound like a bad actor—Dean likes bad actors. He watches them all the time in porn and enjoys the performances. I don’t want to sound like that.

            “Free…” Michael whispers, licking cracked lips. “What is free?”

            Is he asking me a definition or is he confused about a cost of something? The cost of his freedom, I don’t know. “I…”  
            Pounding footsteps toward the room.

            Michael sits up so abruptly, I leap back, tripping over my own shoes but catching myself before I fall. The archangel is alert as he lurches to his feet, then drops to his knees in a peasant’s bow…before God.

            Chuck enters the room in His ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron with oven mitts on both His hands. He stares at Michael and places a hand on my shoulder, pushing me out of the intricate rune pattern on the floor. The power that might have trapped me in the room, releases me as I back into the doorway, hovering, waiting for instruction from Father. He won’t forget I’m here.

            “Rise, son. You don’t have to bow to me.”

            “Forgive me, Father, for I have failed,” Michael groans, his voice still rough.

            “Michael, please get up…”

            “I have failed in killing Lucifer. I failed in restoring order. I failed in protecting my brothers. Lucifer—he—I did not think that he could… He has slain Gabriel.” Michael lifts his head, eyes bright with tears, face damp. “I am not what You created me to be. I accept my eternity in Hell. Send me back, unless You have found a worse place for me. Then, I will go there. For I…”

            He stops, but not for Chuck. Chuck simply stares at Michael; his mouth a straight line, his eyes troubled, the creases around them more visible. God removes his oven mitts and holds His hands out to Michael, but Michael doesn’t reach for them. Instead, he looks beyond Father, past me. The sound of slow footsteps nears me. I sense Gabriel’s patchwork grace, but don’t turn around to acknowledge him. Instead, I watch Michael.

            The oldest archangel stares like a thirsty man being presented with a well of cool, fresh spring water. Gabriel glides past me, entering the room, crossing the runes, to stand beside Chuck in front of Michael. Gabriel’s face is pale, his eyes large and bright with raw emotion—a blend of joy and grief.

            “It cannot be…” Michael stammers.

            Gabriel swallows and holds out his hands to Michael, mimicking Father’s stance, and Michael takes them. His large hands dwarf Gabriel’s smaller ones. He kisses Gabriel’s knuckles, then rises to his feet, pulling Gabriel into a crushing hug.

            Gabriel gasps and grunts, and God pushes at Michael’s broad shoulders.

            “You’re going to hurt him,” Father says firmly, and Michael loosens his grip, pulling back to touch his forehead to Gabriel’s and gaze into his eyes.

            “You… How is it you? And this body, this vessel…” Michael’s words are choked as he pats Gabriel’s shoulders and arms and chest. “You are real.” Michael looks to Father. “Did You do this, bring him to me?”

            “No,” Father says simply. “I brought you to him. He requested it be so.”

            “But…but you hate me,” Michael breathes, looking at Gabriel again. “You hate me so much you ran away from home and never came back. Why would you want me now?”

            Gabriel moans. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you. I just—I didn’t mean to never come back. I… I didn’t want to see you all fight. You know that. It just—I didn’t know it would all take so long. That it would come to what it did.”

            “What it did…” Michael murmurs. “What has happened? Tell me… How are you alive? Lucifer killed you. I heard from… from those… those you consorted with after you left us all.”

            “You knew where I was?”

            “That you pretended to be the son of Odin?” Michael asks. “You hid well. Centuries past before I finally learned where you’d ended up. Raphael is the one who…” He blinks. “Where is Raphael?”

            Gabriel cringes and Michael blanches.

            “Where is our brother?” he demands.

            “He will join you,” Father says. “Do not trouble yourself.”

            “Trouble myself is all I do,” Michael murmurs. He touches his face, and runs fingers along his square jawline. “This face…”

            “It is one of the first I crafted for you,” Father says. “It suits you best.”

            “Malkiel of Jordan,” Michael says softly. “What has happened Father? How have I come to be here? And why…” Michael reaches for Gabriel again, stroking his face. “Why are you in such ill condition, little brother? Your grace is in ruin, your aura is dark, and your vessel is weary. Let me heal you.”

            Gabriel ducks out of his reach and Michael all but withers.

            “I—” Michael sits back on his futon, staring at his hands. “You reject me still. I understand. I was not a good brother to you. I should have come to where I knew you were and brought you back, showed you that…” His face twists in anguish. “But I could not do that and still be obedient.”

            He looks at God with bleak eyes. “What would You have had me do, Father? You ordered the destruction of Lucifer, yet our war is what drove Gabriel away. I could not keep him safe in Heaven, because he would not come back. And…and Raphael, his heart…. His heart darkened. He became cold and I liked his level-head, but I missed…” He looks at Gabriel. “I missed looking for hours for you both, only to find him in a tree reading or writing drivel, and you lying in wait with some sort of foolish trap. Only Lucifer fell for those traps.”

            A hint of what might be a smile quirks the corners of his mouth and Gabriel’s eyes sparkle.

            “Are you laughing?”

            “No,” Michael says quickly.

            “You denied that way too fast, big bro,” Gabriel teases gently.

            Michael stares at Gabriel and stretches out an arm to him. Gabriel hesitates for a moment, then sits beside the oldest archangel. “You are alive.” Michael wraps his arms around Gabriel again, gently, burying his face in Gabriel’s curly hair, breathing seemingly unsteady.

            Father watches the archangels, blue eyes glimmering like He might cry too.

            God…crying, because His sons have reunited.

            God…ignoring me, in favor of those sons. He doesn’t call me over, or ask Michael to acknowledge me the way he had Gabriel. Michael didn’t hug or kiss me. He’d sounded astounded that I was alive, not grateful. I’d been satisfied that he knew my name.

            I watch God—GOD—kneel in front of the futon, in front of Michael and Gabriel, watch Him hold out His hands again and see them each take one. From their combined auras I feel the love between them—Father and sons—that will never truly be mine.

            And I flee the room.

* * *

 

 

~*~

           

            Hours later, Deans finds me in his Dean-cave staring at a blank television screen. Jack had tried to talk to me earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself to say much to him. I can’t bring myself to say much to anyone. I don’t look up or over, as Dean’s weight sinks down on the other end of the couch.

            “Hey,” he says simply.

            I say nothing.

            A frosted bottle of beer slides across the coffee table over to me.

            “There’s pizza in the kitchen too,” Dean says. “Chuck didn’t come back up to finish what he was making for dinner and none of us could figure out how to put the recipe together ourselves. Gourmet food and Winchester culinary skills don’t mix.”

            I don’t smile.

            “They’re still down there talking,” Dean says. “Chuck shut the door last time Sam tried to poke his head in. How come you’re not in there with…?”

            I close my eyes. “I’m not one of them, Dean.”

            “One of them?” Dean asks. “An angel? Last I checked, yeah you are. And Chuck said…”

            “He said,” I sigh. “And He has been kind to me, but I am not any more than I was to Him before—or to them.”

            “Who’s them? Michael and Gabriel?” Dean asks. “I mean, screw Michael, but you know what you said about Gabe isn’t true.”

            “Maybe it wasn’t before, but now he has Michael again,” I say bitterly. “And when Raphael returns, I will be forgotten completely.”

            “That’s not—”

            “None of them has noticed that I’m gone,” I say flatly. “Nobody has called me back. I know where I stand. But I’ve always known it. It was stupid of me to ever think otherwise. I’m a soldier. I was rewarded for doing my job well—my wings are back, and now I can continue doing my job well. I am hope that all angels can find a proper path, but nothing more. I’ve never had anything more before, so I certainly don’t need it now.”

            “Doesn’t make it right,” Dean grunts.

            “You never had anything more,” I counter.

            Dean shrugs. “Still doesn’t make it right. But hey, we both turned out okay, I guess.”

            I tilt my head, studying the man—the righteous one born to be Michael’s sword—the one who’d told Michael and Lucifer, the strongest archangels, where to… as Dean would say… stick it. His Father had loved him, but treated him like a tool, a weapon to hone. Dean didn’t get affection the way other human children had gotten it, but he was praised for jobs well done.

            And he is a fine man.

            “You turned out better than okay, Dean,” I tell him.

            “And so did you,” Dean says. “You’ve come a long way from that weird guy I first met.” Dean shakes his head and pops the lid off his own bottle of beer. “Hey, you gonna open yours, or you want me to drink it too? I will.”

            I can’t help but grin at the serious look he gives me. I reach for my beer, feeling better, comforted, in the presence of Dean Winchester, my brother.

            Dean clinks his bottle against mine. “To sucky Dads and great beer.”

             I’m about to pop the top off my bottle when a blood curdling bellow from below makes me drop the bottle on the floor. The glass breaks on the tile, brown liquid staining the floor.

            Dean and I are on our feet.

            “What the Hell was that?”

            My senses reel as feelings of gut-wrenching betrayal and despair buckle my knees. Dean catches me under the arms, lowering me to the floor as I gasp. That aura—it’s… “Michael.”

            Dean curses. “Gabriel’s blade is in the safe. Let’s…”

            “No, no,” I moan, holding my aching chest. My heart hurts. “No, he’s not… I think…”

            Gabriel’s aura approaches. I look up as he stumbles into the room, looking lost and dazed. He makes it to the couch, bare feet not avoiding the broken glass on the floor. Dean curses again, pushing Gabriel down onto the couch and staring at his bleeding feet, then at Gabriel.

            “What the Hell…?”

            “Dad told Michael about the Other Michael—and about the other worlds and angels.”

            The lights flicker before sizzling and going out, encasing us in darkness.

            “He’s not taking it well.”

            Gabriel’s words are almost drowned out by another howl from below—and then, the couch, the pool table and half of the back wall burst into blue flames.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam

 

            “I don’t like this,” Dean says. “I don’t like this at all.”

            He’s said different versions of that statement about seventy times in the past hour.

            “What if crazy pants roasts Cass next? Chuck’s runes gonna stop that? All those do is keep Michael in there.” Dean knocks on Cass and Gabriel’s door again.

            “Dean, He’s not going to answer it,” I say. He’s knocked about seventy times too. Chuck’s not letting anyone, but angels in.

            Gabriel suggested Michael sleep in his and Cass’s room, that maybe Michael might feel better being closer to him after nearly torching half the bunker. When Michael had come back to himself, he’d been horrified that he could have burned Gabriel on accident. He put all the fires that Gabriel and Castiel hadn’t gotten to out. Lucky for us, his blow-up had mostly involved celestial fire—protective flames that only burn things trying to get past them. Unlucky for me, I was trapped in the bathroom for an hour since a line of that fire crisscrossed in front of the door.

            In the worst of Gabriel’s deliriums, he’d used those flames too—an angelic survival instinct? Cass says he doesn’t have the power to produce celestial flames at whim (and he also can’t put them out), but could Cass produce those flames if he was truly out of it and felt threatened? Only Chuck knows, because we’re not going to experiment. Surely, he would give all his kids the same means of ultimate protection. But then again, Cass has been in trouble so many times, even died, and no last minute, last-ditch fire ever saved him from any pain. But before I get angry on Cass’s behalf, that fire didn’t save Gabriel or Michael from pain either.

            Dean glares at me over his shoulder and raises his hand to knock again. Mom touches his shoulder. “Dean. I think Chuck is busy. He’s warding the room to keep Michael in, but allow Gabriel and Cass to pass through freely. He’s also got to make sure Michael’s calm.”

            Dean sighs. “I don’t like it. Michael could kill both of them. All he has to do it snap his fingers on Cass. I saw Lucifer do it.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “And Gabe? Gabe wouldn’t defend himself.”

            My stomach twists, recalling Lucifer killing Cass with a flick of his—my—wrist. He’d been wearing me at the time. He killed Cass and had felt nothing—no remorse, just fury that Cass had dared to challenge an archangel. That superiority is something I pushed from my mind, but seeing Chuck interact with Gabriel and Cass is… I think about me, Dad and Dean. Dean was golden in Dad’s eyes. Dad trusted Dean, took him on missions, but yelled at me and never tried to understand how I felt.

            If Dean had wanted to go to college…

            No, Dean wouldn’t have wanted to go. Not if Dad didn’t want him to. Dad liked Dean because he was obedient. Cass is obedient. When we first met him, Cass was a robot following orders. I get the feeling a lot of the angels on Cass’s level were back then. But Chuck preferred the archangels that did as they pleased: Lucifer who betrayed him and was a monster, and Gabriel who… can be annoying. Michael and Raphael, the more obedient ones, got the shorter end of the stick, from what I can tell.

            Chuck is dad backwards.

            “Why are you all still standing out here?” Bobby enters the hall, and a familiar flicker of love and disappointment flares in my chest. I always want to think he’s my Bobby, before I remember he’s not.

            “Ain’t none of them celestial beings coming out of there until they’re ready, and when they do, they’ll come find you,” Bobby says. “The troops want to have a meeting.”

            Dean rolls his eyes. He still hates that we have a bunker full of people. Though, their numbers are dwindling. Some set off on their own, some were lost in hunting accidents. It makes me sick to think about the ones who died. They weren’t ready for real hunting missions, but they’d gotten tired of sitting around here waiting to go home.

            “This better be good,” Dean grumbles. Mom gives him a look and cuffs his ear. He flinches and gives her a wounded look that turns into a wry smile. Mom squeezes his shoulder and they move to follow Bobby, Jack falling into step with them.

            I watch for a second, glad that Dean is finally starting to get that relationship he wants with Mom. It had gnawed at him that she… I shake my head, chest hurting at the rejection I still feel. When Mom had first come back, she didn’t want us—she wanted the Sam and Dean she knew, her babies, not grown men. We weren’t her kids, not yet, maybe not ever. Because while she’s warmed up, and when she hugs me, I feel like I won the lottery, I still don’t feel a true connection. Not like the ones I see between others moms and their kids. Sometimes, I catch Mom looking at me, eyes hungry for something I’m not giving her.

            She’s better with Dean. Maybe because he was older. There are things he says and memories he has that make her light up and smile and laugh. She says _“I can’t believe you remember that!”_ and when she hugs and kisses him, it’s different.

            Dean’s relationship with Dad was different too. They could talk about Mom—and when they talked about Azazel, it was in the same tone. He’d killed someone they’d both known and loved, and they could be angry about it together. I was left out.

            I’m still left out.

            I shuffle my feet as I follow the group into the meeting room where the refugees are already sitting at and around the table, waiting for us. Their expressions are grave. Worry shifts in my gut. What the hell happened?

            “Have a seat,” Bobby says, gesturing to chairs left available to us at the head of the table.

            I take a chair, Dean and Jack sitting on either side of me, Mom beside Dean.

            “So…uh…” when it seems like no one else is going to talk first, “…what’s up, guys?” I look back into all the eyes staring back at me. They all look at each other, then at Maggie, then back at me.

            “We’re ready to go home,” Maggie says.

            I blink. “Yes, and…”

            “Michael is in this world now, not ours, and probably won’t go back,” she continues. “God is here. He can open the portal and put us back in our world, so we can rebuild. He can clear out the bad angels and have Heaven reopened.”

            “That’s assuming He wants to help you, and let me assure you that He doesn’t,” Dean says gruffly. “A lot of work’s gonna have to be done in your place and you’re gonna have to do it on your own if you go back. I’m sure we can gather you up some archangel grace to get that portal back open. And you’re right, that Other Michael probably won’t be your problem anymore. But hey, that’s more than what you were originally hoping for when you first came here. So, you wanna go home? Let’s get you home.”

            “Dean,” I start, then look at Maggie and the others. “Look.” Because maybe they feel unwanted. “If you’re trying to hurry up and get back to the other world because maybe you’re not feeling comfortable here, tell us. I kind of thought that maybe you would start liking it here, and wanting to take off in this world. We’ve made you all new identities. You could work, go to school, stay here and save up to move out. No one’s kicking you back to another dimension.”

            “No offense, General,” a man—Derek—speaks up. “But there’re way too many archangels in this world for any of us to feel comfortable. Hell, the archangels are here, in this bunker, not to mention the Michael count is up to two! And now, Dean’s saying God—Who’s also here—doesn’t give a shit about us? I think we’re safer dealing with the apocalypse fall out in our world! At least we’d be where we’re _supposed_ to be. Maybe without Michael, we can clean up our world and rebuild. I’d rather do that than try to save this crazy one where there’s another me running around that I have to avoid. I can’t even use my own name. My kids are alive here and I can’t go anywhere near them because someone might see me. This is torture.” His voice breaks.

            I sigh. Mulling it all over. I hadn’t thought very much about their feelings, really only bonding with the troops whose counterparts in this world—like Bobby and Charlie—are dead. Some had to get completely new identities and styles just because they’re other self is alive and well. They have kids that do and don’t exist. They’re getting to see a life they could have had—lives they wouldn’t have wanted or maybe would have wanted had they made this decision or that—or lives they lost due to an insane archangel and his army killing everyone.

            I did them a disservice. I should have made an announcement and urged them all to talk to Mia. We’d brought her here for Gabriel, never thinking about the others who may have needed her too. I’m sure she’s probably talked to some of them, but I could have influenced the rest. I’m an awful leader when it comes down to it. I get too wrapped up in my own business.

            “Okay,” I say softly. “So, you all want to go home. We’ll uh… we’ll work on that. Chuck—ah God—is busy right now. But when He’s free, we’ll do our best to get Him to go for it.”

            “Or ask your pet archangel for some grace. He’s got more lately,” a woman—Debra—says.

            Dean glares at her. “Why I don’t let you ask him.”

            She pales and Dean smirks. “S’what I thought, but I’ll let him know you care, Deb.”

            “Is that all you wanted to talk about?” I ask.

            “If God says ‘no’,” Maggie says, “and we’re stuck here after all, how much longer will the angels stay?”

            “For as long as they want,” Dean says. “This is their home. _You’re_ the guests.”

            “Dean,” Mom grabs his arm. “Maggie, we don’t know the answer to that question. But you are all welcome to stay, and as Sam says, work to build up savings so that you can move out. We could even talk to some of the hunter network and find out who has spare lodgings or is willing to offer room and board for a while. We don’t want you to feel trapped here, especially if it turns out we can’t send you home. We want you to make the most of a possible new beginning. Being alive is something you shouldn’t take for granted. Trust me, I know.” She smiles at Dean, then at the troops.

            I look out at their number. There aren’t that many of them left. Nineteen. I could call around to find temporary homes or even permanent ones for nineteen new hunters. It won’t be easy, but it’s doable.

            “Tell us what you want us to do? Find you all new homes, while you wait for God’s answer? Or do you want to wait for God’s answers and go from there?” I ask the table.

            Maggie looks at Bobby who shrugs.

            “Maybe you all better leave the room and let them discuss it.”

            Let them discuss it? Bobby says it like he’s not one of “them”. That flicker of love and disappointment comes again. If that Bobby decides never to go back to the other world and never to move out of the bunker, he’ll still never be my Bobby Singer. But, he’s Bobby—in looks and personality. I’d rather him be here than not.

            Dean, Mom, Jack and I get up and go into the next room—a den, where Dean turns on the TV.

            “Can you believe that?” Dean jerks his thumb at the door. “Ungrateful bastards.”

            “Dean, how would you feel if you were in their position?” Mom asks.

            “Glad somebody took my free-loading ass in,” Dean grouses.

            “They’re not free-loaders,” I say. “They’re learning to be hunters. They’re hunting. They’re helping us out there.”

            “They’re helping themselves,” Dean counters. “They’re learning skills they didn’t have to take back with them to their hell-hole world, so that they can fight better. It’d be different if some of them were sharing money they brought in, and buying groceries they don’t put their names on! They sleep in our bunks, eat our food, run up the power and water bill, use our weapons, then complain about our friends being here. If they don’t like it, there’s the door, and there’s another! And hell, I bet when they leave, we’ll give them cars and credit cards to get them where they’re going and they’ll cuss about us the whole way.”

            I stare at Dean as he paces, not knowing what to say to him to make him see it another way. Once he bites down on an opinion, his jaws clamp tighter than a Pit Bull’s. I rub my temples, feeling a tension headache coming on and throw myself down on a leather couch. The seat depresses beside me. I expect Jack, but smell Mom’s perfume.

            “It’s not your fault they feel this way, Sam,” she says.

            “I don’t—”

            “You put too much on yourself,” Mom says. “When we brought these people here, we all felt equally responsible for them at first, because they knew nothing and it’s our world. More than enough time has passed for them to be competent here. You would definitely be competent in their world or any other by now. They’re all adults and you knew that they weren’t going to stay here. You just feel bad because you think they may decide to leave earlier than they would have. But what would you do? Kick Cass and Gabriel and Jack out, so that our orphans will stick around another month or two?”

            I blink at her and look up to see if Jack or Dean are paying attention. Dean’s still pacing and Jack is mimicking him. It’s kind of cute that he still does that sometimes.

            “Well?” she presses.

            “No,” I finally say. “We’re not kicking our angels out. They live here.”

            “And so?”

            My shoulders slump. “Maybe we always should have tried to find them somewhere else. Maybe they’d want to stay in this world…”

            “That was never their intention,” Mom says. “Did you mean to change their minds?”

            “Their world is a mess…”

            “But theirs,” Mom says. “You heard what Derek said, what a lot of them probably feel. Let it go, Sam. You’ve got other things to worry about. You did a great job with the troops. They’re better trained, better fed, and now they better know what they want and how to achieve it. The only thing we ever promised to do for them was better equip them and send them home. We’ve fulfilled half of the agreement.”

            I don’t feel completely better, but hearing it all laid out like that cancels out the start of a headache. A callused hand kneads my neck and I groan at the release of pressure and let my head roll forward.

            “Your father used to get tension headaches too,” Mom says gently as she rubs my neck. “From staying in one position too long and from sitting up worrying about bills. He insisted that I be a stay-at-home mom, you know? He didn’t want you boys in daycare.”

            I raise a brow. My dad didn’t want us in daycare—meaning he didn’t want strangers looking after his kids. I choke back a bitter laugh. “If he wasn’t leaving us with other hunters, he was leaving us alone.”

            Mom’s fingers don’t pause. “I’d like to hear more about that, Sam, from you.” She lowers her voice. “Dean doesn’t like to talk about the bad things much. John… John was not the best at expressing his feelings. He had a temper, and sometimes… sometimes, being a father overwhelmed him. There were a few nights, when Dean was just born and wouldn’t sleep through the night, that John stayed out until the sun rose. He’d come back hung-over and angry. We fought a lot. I almost packed up Dean and ran a few times. I had family.” She quiets and I look at her.

            Mom’s family—the Campbells. The ones I’d met after escaping the Cage. I don’t know if that was all of them, but all the ones I knew are dead now. Were dead before she came back.

            What would it have been like, though? If Mom had left Dad? I wouldn’t be born, no, but Dean might have grown up in one house with a bunch of relatives around him. He still might have been a hunter, but with a family. Or if Mom had had me, and left Dad after that—when Azazel came for me, it might have been in a house full of hunters. Maybe they could have run him off. Or maybe Mom would have slept through the night and been none-the-wiser, and lived. Who knows.

            She touches my cheek, looking into my eyes, and for once that hungry light in them doesn’t seem like she’s searching for food she’s not finding. No, she sees what she wants; she just doesn’t know how to get it—how to get me.

            I thought Dean was like Dad, and they got along so well because they were so similar. But no. Dean is like Mom, and they get along because they’re so similar. I’m more like Dad—and that’s why we fought. Mom tried to keep the peace with Dad—as did Dean. That’s why she never packed Dean up and left. Deans don’t leave.

            I lean forward and kiss her cheek. “I’d love to tell you about it, Mom.” Because I would have sold my sold to talk about it with Dean, but it hurts him because he thinks he didn’t do enough for me. But the thing is, he never needed to. It wasn’t his job; it was Dad’s. “Whenever you want, just…just let me know.”

             I swallow hard and Mom kisses me on the cheek in return. “Beer will be on me,” she says.

            The door on the opposite side of the room—the one not attached to the meeting room—opens, and Cass pokes his head in.

            “Cass!” Dean is on him in a flash. “What’s happening?”

            Cass looks tired. “Michael asked Father and I to leave him alone with Gabriel. He doesn’t wish to see Father’s face right now, and… the only brother he wants is Gabriel.”

            Dean bites his lip—face contorting like he wants to laugh for a minute. “Hold on, hold, let me get this straight. You saying Michael told God to get out of his face?”

            Cass tilts his head, frowning. “Not…in those particular words…but yes.”

            Dean chuckles and pats Castiel’s shoulder. “Where’s old Chuck now?”

            “In the kitchen,” Cass says. “He says that He likes to bake when He feels like creating biblical floods. It relaxes Him.”

            Dean laughs, then turns, with Cass, to face me, Jack and Mom. “I don’t know how long that little pow-wow is gonna take in there, but I don’t feel like waiting for them to make a decision. What say we go out for a drink and some pool? Let’s get out of here for a while.”

            I look to Mom who shrugs at me with a smile. “I said I’d buy the beer, Sam.”

            I grin at her, then meet Dean’s eyes. His look at me is strange, kind of pleased, kind of jealous, mostly relieved. His gaze flits to Mom for a second, and I think he gets it.

            “Let’s go. There’s a new place in the next town I wanna try out,” Dean says. “Cass, you wanna leave a note?”

            “What should I write?”

            “Beer run?” Dean says. “Just say, be right back… maybe.”

            “You’ve been hanging out with Gabriel too much,” I mutter, shaking my head as Castiel finds pen and paper, probably to write the note verbatim.

            We head out five minutes later, leaving our guests, God and resident archangels to handle their own business for a change.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Gabriel

 

            “I can’t forgive Him.”

            I share at Michael as he sits in Castiel’s armchair turning my old bone flute over in his hands. I limp over to my bed, trying to keep my weight off the foot Cass bandaged. I perch on the edge so that I’m inches from my brother, basking in his presence.

            He’s here. He’s been here for days, but now his mind is here too. And a bleeding hole opens inside me every time I think I could have had this years ago, if I’d just gone home. He wanted me there. He knew where I was and respected my wishes over his, because that’s who Michael is. Others come first. But what does Michael want?

            Has he ever wanted anything?

            “How can you talk to Him, Gabriel?” Michael asks, his voice so weak and drained.

            “I need Him to help me,” I say. “I needed Him to heal you and to bring back Raphael. He has to save Heaven too. It’s dying without more angels up there. The souls will have nowhere to go and come crashing back to Earth.”

            “Human souls,” Michael murmurs. “Only human souls. Our souls go somewhere else. And _we_ can go somewhere else too. Let this world fall and walk to another. You know the pathways better than I. We can go to one of the worlds with no humans or creatures. We can build there. You know how. Raphael knows how. It can just be the three of us, and maybe…” His voice trails off. “If it’s just us, then….” He bites his lip. “Father was the one Who forced humans on us and made Lucifer change into what he was. Father put that Mark on him. Father can give Lucifer back to us, and we’ll take him and go.”

            “Lucifer wants to rule this world,” I say simply. My stomach churns at Lucifer’s name.

            “Do you think he’d stay here if he knew we were all going somewhere else and wanted him with us? That we’d all be willing to tell him that he was right and Father was wrong? He’d come.” Michael’s dark eyes gleam. “And we could be as we were, only… only you’d teach me to enjoy things. To laugh and take in what you think is beautiful and wonderful, because I won’t have to do Father’s work. Always. Always I did Father’s work. Even when He wasn’t there to tell me to do it, because it was His Will and He never revoked It. Never cared to. It wasn’t important enough for Him to come, just once, and say Michael, you don’t have to do this anymore, because I don’t care what you do. Would that have saved Raphael too? Maybe he would have come down to you and you would have come back with him and we all could have gone away.”

            His wistfulness breaks my heart.

            “Instead, here we are, broken. Raphael and Lucifer, dead. And Father—Father is walking the worlds with Amara. Father is making worlds to correct His mistakes, to correct us. If He’d made a world that satisfied Him more than this one, we would have never seen Him again, Gabriel. I’m sure of it.”

            I shut my eyes, because I’m sure of it too.

            “I can’t go anywhere until I’m sure Heaven is restored,” I say. “Dad says He strengthened the angels above, but even He says it’s not a permanent solution. Heaven needs an archangel.”

            “And so, you would stay?” Michael asks. “ _You_?” He reaches out, taking my chin in his hand and peering at me. He tilts his head. “But you would wish me to stay here as well, and Raphael too…with you?”

            I nod. “It would still just be us. Father won’t remain and we can do what we want. We can be angels that never look down. We’d just manage the souls that come up.”

            “That wouldn’t satisfy you,” Michael says slowly. “You love humans and would want to visit them. You are attached to the family lines that vessel comes from.”

            I shrug.

            “But if I said that I did not wish to stay, and that I wanted you with me, what would you choose, little brother? Will you always select others over me? Am I such a bad brother after all? As bad as Lucifer?”

            I cringe. “You’ll never be as bad as Lucifer. You were never bad at all. You just… you…”

            He releases my chin, sitting back, still studying me. “I was what, Gabriel?”

            “I didn’t know you,” I say, “because you wouldn’t let me. All I knew was that you’d do anything for Dad and that you didn’t laugh. That I annoyed you because I laughed and played too much. I loved you, but thought that maybe…”

            “I didn’t love you?” Michael finishes. He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and squeezing my flute so hard I’m scared he might break it. I want to snatch it from him. That thing’s an heirloom. He unclenches his hand, letting the flute roll in his palm, then… smiles at me.

            His teeth are even and white; his vessel has dimples and eyes that crinkle at the corners when the expression is genuine. I feel—I bow my head—his aura radiates love, for me.

            “I’ve always loved you, little one. You and Raphael and Lucifer were mine. Lucifer and I were always around the same size, and then when Raphael came, he was not so much smaller than us, but you… you were a baby. All of you needed so differently, and yes, I did find Lucifer and sometimes Raphael easier to understand, but it didn’t make me love you less. It just made me worry more. I’m not…” He sighs. “I’m not Lucifer. He was good at expressing certain emotions, but he was volatile too. And Raphael understood you. He knew how to talk to you. I figured that it was enough that I protected you and trained you with your blade when it was time. Though…” he shakes his head. “You never should have had to be trained with it. I would have… When it came to it, I would have had you stay in Heaven, like you did when Father, Lucifer and I went to fight Amara. I wouldn’t want you to see what had to happen to Lucifer. Or what we thought had to happen to Lucifer, because Father didn’t really care, did He?”

            He holds the flute out to me and I take it.

            “You went to Heaven to find this,” he says.

            I nod.

            “You saw what I gathered for you.”

            I nod again.

            “I thought: when he comes back, he will see this and know everything I couldn’t say. Do you?”

            I can’t breathe as tears spill down my cheeks.

            Michael smiles again, but without teeth, and his eyes don’t crinkle. “But you would still abandon me again, for humans and pagans?”

            “Not pagans,” I can’t help but say.

            Michael’s eyes flash gold. “Did they hurt you?”

            I shake my head. “It’s in the past.”

            Michael’s eyes narrow. “I want to know about it.”

            “You can’t tell me what to do,” I snap—I can’t help but say that either. My hackles raise at his commanding tone. Just like before—just because he’s older, he thinks he can boss me around.

            “Why do you protect them?” Michael growls, reaching out to grab me. I’m not fast enough to dodge the iron grip he puts on my wrist. I feel his grace fastening onto my memories and I force it back.

            He gasps and releases me. “Gabriel!”

            “You can’t do that without my permission!” I shout, jumping up on the bed. Not caring that my foot hurts, or that I’m sick, or that I’m tired from using my power to put out Michael’s fires earlier. “Nobody will ever force me to do anything ever again!”

            “Who forced you?” Michael pounces on that like a lion. The gold in his eyes blazes. “Gabriel, I will hunt every pagan alive and ask them this question, and if I don’t like their answers…”

            I glare at him, but then think. Loki and his sons betrayed me, but who else knew about it? Who knew what they planned, knew what they did, and probably knew where I was, and did nothing?

            And I had tried to protect them.

            Hid from my family, thinking I was safe with them.

            My legs are weak and I fall to my knees, and would have fallen off the bed, but Michael springs up, catching me and supporting me in his hold. He presses his forehead to mine and looks me deep in the eyes. “Are the ones responsible dead?”

            “Yes.”

            “By an angel’s hand?”

            “By mine.”

            “Good. But there is more. They hurt you. But how? I see it in your eyes, your aura, your grace. You’re ill physically and spiritually, and it’s not only because of Father and Heaven and guilt. It’s something else.”

            He closes his eyes—and this time, I let him in, let him see.

            And pray he can handle it.

            His grip tightens on my shoulders as he sucks in a shocked breath, seven heartbeats pass in complete silence, and then…

            I’m pushed away.

            I stare as my brother’s eyes lose their golden hue and go dark and lifeless. He sits in Cass’s chair, staring off into space.

            “Michael?” My voice is a desperate croak. “Hey. Hey bro.” I climb off the bed, barely catching myself as a wave of dizziness hits. I kneel in front of him, blinking away dark warning spots that tell me I’ve overdone it, and touch his knees, peering up into his blank face. “Brother?”

            Nothing.

            I reach out with my grace, brushing against my brother’s dulling aura, but not being let in. I shake his knees, hoping for a reaction. Nothing. He’s still and unblinking, a living statue.

            Raspberries.

            I don’t know what to do.

            I…

            I shouldn’t have let him see that. He wasn’t ready. He just came back from the Cage, from finding out what Father had done. Why did I let him do that? Why?

            Because I’m a screw-up and that’s what I do.

            And because I’m a screw-up, I can’t fix anything by myself. No matter what I do, I’ll always need someone stronger to clean up after me. I let out a shaky breath and clear my throat.

            Then, I shout for “Dad!”

 

 

         

           

           

             

 

           

             

 

                         
    
 


	7. Chapter 7

_Castiel_

 

            Michael’s falling apart, like Gabriel. Maybe it’s the fate of archangels to come to think that they’re worthless, and that’s what eventually kills them—if they don’t get skewered by archangel blades or turned to salt. Gabriel sits with our eldest brother as he sobs and retches over a toilet, like a sick human. Nothing comes up, because Michael doesn’t eat, but maybe he’ll need to, as Gabriel does.

            I perch on the side of the bathtub observing God’s firstborns. Gabriel ties Michael’s long hair back and rubs his shoulders as he heaves.

            “There was nothing you could have done, brother,” Gabriel whispers. “You were in the Cage. I let you go there. I told the Winchesters how to summon and open the Cage. Without that, you could have just…” he swallows.

            Maybe Michael would have just killed Lucifer on that day. Or maybe Lucifer would have killed Michael. It could have gone either way, but any way it had gone half of humanity would have died.

            “Should have thrown all of it in the garbage,” Michael chokes between gags. “Should have just come for you and just left everything as it was. Took a page from Father and just left.”

            Gabriel hugs Michael’s shoulders, eyes closed, face creased with pain.

            There’s a knock on the bathroom door. Gabriel’s eyes snap open and he look at me. “Tell Dad to go away.”

            “Again?” This is the twelfth time.

            When Dean, Sam, Jack, Mary and I had gotten back from the bar, Gabriel had been in a panic, God was with Michael, and half the bunker smelled like stomped out holy fire. Gabriel said Michael was catatonic and that he’d done it to him. God spent half the night rousing Michael from wherever he’d sent himself, and then Michael spent the rest of the night and half of the day in here, throwing up.

            “Michael doesn’t want Him,” Gabriel says.

            “Do _you_ want Him?” I ask, watching him closely.

            Gabriel flinches, a full body shudder. “N-no.”

            But he does. Despite everything He has and hasn’t done, to Gabriel, God is an actual father—when He’s present.

            “You need a break, Gabriel,” I say gently. “You need to eat and rest. I can…”

            “He needs me here,” Gabriel says, tightening his hold on Michael. “I won’t abandon him again.”

            “You’re not abandoning him. You’d still be close by. You just need…”

            “It’s not about what I need,” Gabriel says.

            Another knock at the door and Gabriel shuts his eyes again, resting his forehead on Michael’s shoulder.

            I get up, eyes still on Gabriel and Michael—mighty archangels who look like very young and very vulnerable humans—and a surge of protectiveness swells inside me. They are my brothers and they’re in pain.

            I open the bathroom door, coming face-to-face with our Father.

            “Finally,” Chuck says. “Let me…” He blinks at me, tilting His head when I don’t move out of His way. “Castiel?”

            “They’re not ready for You again,” I say.

            “I didn’t ask if they were,” Chuck says. “Michael needs something to soothe his nerves and Gabriel needs sleep. That I can do without their permission. It’ll take one touch, and then you can go and help Sam and Dean finish sorting out the arrangements to get those displaced people out of here. They really are noisy, and messy, and ungrateful.

            “Why don’t you just send them back to their world? It’s what they want,” I say.

            Chuck rolls his eyes. “I’m in the middle of resurrecting archangels and nursing them back to health. It’s not as easy as you think, son. Especially, when they’re stubborn.” Chuck sighs. “Gabriel, you need to let me help your brother. He’s in pain.”

            “He said he doesn’t want You near him anymore,” Gabriel whispers. “He asked me to keep You away.”

            Chuck groans. “All right.”

            And suddenly, I’m pushed to the side by an unseen force. I stumble into the tiled bathroom wall, watching Chuck cross the threshold and make his way to the archangels.

            “I’ve had about as much insubordination as I’m going to take from you two.”

            I wait for Chuck to snap His fingers, or for Gabriel to try to throw out holy fire or make the lights flicker—but none of that happens. Instead, Chuck kneels, wrapping His arms around Gabriel whose arms are still around Michael. My stomach twists as His lips brush Gabriel’s temple and then the top of Michael’s head. He whispers something to them, and He’s not pushed away.

            They huddle together, a father caring for his children. After a while, Michael stops heaving, but his sobs continue, and Chuck’s whispers are suddenly louder to me. He says, “There, there, My brave warrior. None of this is your fault. You only did what you thought I wanted of you. You carried out your duty valiantly in My absence. And things that happened after the Cage are no more your fault than anything else. The fault is Mine. I should have released you from your mission, but I was a coward and didn’t want to face you and tell you that I wasn’t brave enough to kill Lucifer myself.”

            “I didn’t want to kill him,” Michael murmurs through tears. “I didn’t want to hurt him. He was mine. He wasn’t supposed to get out of the Cage the first time. But the demons were a step ahead of us. It was my negligence that allowed the demons to contaminate my bloodline, which led to the first Seal being broken. And then we couldn’t stop the process. Nothing could stop it, and there were…” He swallows. “There were angels whose loyalties were to Lucifer. Not me. They tired of my reign; my decisions. I could not inspire them.”

            “Every angel has a mind of his or her own,” Chuck says evenly, stroking Michael’s hair. “And they were turning away from Me, not you. You were only following My Will.”

            Michael swallows again. “I knew Gabriel was with those filthy pagans and I let him be. And when I believed that Lucifer had killed him, I didn’t look into it. I should have investigated. Rescued him. I’m a failure. Why did you rouse me?”

            “He did it, because I love you,” Gabriel says softly. “And I...”

            “…didn’t want to be alone in all of this. And he shouldn’t be. None of you should,” Chuck says. “What’s done is done, Michael. You and your brothers have suffered, and now you all need to help each other get better.”

            “Because You won’t,” Michael rasps. “You’ll leave us as soon as…”

            “Raphael is almost ready to come to you,” Chuck says.

            They’re so quiet I hear heartbeats. They’re waiting for Chuck to tell them when He’ll abandon us all again.

            “And when I bring him here and you are reunited, We will fix Heaven, and then…”

            Chuck breathes deeply, in and out, drawing out the moment.

            “Then, We’ll leave. Together. It’s time I properly introduce you to your Aunt.”

            They’ll leave. Together.

            And neither Michael nor Gabriel protests. No mention of ridding the world of the Other Michael or of sending the refugees home. No mention of taking me. Not that I’d go. There’s Jack. And Dean. And Sam. But my heart still hurts.

            I almost miss when they vanish from the room, but I sense that they haven’t gone far. I have no doubt that I’ll find them in the room I share with Gabriel. Or maybe it’s the room Gabriel shares with Michael now. I stay in the bathroom, shoulder against the wall, staring off into space for a moment before I head into Dean’s cave. The man lounges on a couch with a bottle of beer in hand and a bowl of chips in his lap. He raises his beer as I enter.

            “Everything okay?” he asks.

            He’s been my saving grace, from trying to distract me from feeling shoved aside by taking me out for pool and drinks, to insisting that all of his hunting missions include me going along. He finds ways to say that I’m important in everything we do.

            “I’m not sure,” I say, sitting beside him and staring straight ahead at the TV. I frown at the show and glance over at Dean. “I thought you said…”

            “It was just on! Background noise.” Dean changes the channel from a soap opera to a day-time judge show. “I was zoning out, tired.”

            We’ve been trying to track the Other Michael by paying attention to vampire and werewolf migration patterns. So far, we’re still pulling up short. The archangel is out there somewhere, and…

            “Why can’t Chuck just find him for us. Take him out. It’ll be nothing to Him,” Dean grumbles. “He can do it now. Gabe and…” he sneers, “Michael… don’t want Him here. Is He still claiming that resurrecting Raphael is taking up all His time?”

            I shrug. “Father is with Gabriel and Michael. I think Raphael’s resurrection is near complete.” I lapse into silence, sensing Dean’s probing gaze on me.

            “What happened?”

            “Noth—”

            “Bull. You got that kicked puppy look again,” Dean says. “You were with Gabriel and Michael earlier and now you’re in here. They tell you to go away?”

            I shake my head.

            “Chuck do something?”

            I sigh. “It’s really nothing that I didn’t know, Dean. Father… He loves the archangels. And when He leaves again, He thinks they should go with Him.”

            “Just them, not you?” Dean presses.

            “I didn’t ask,” I say. But how could I? They were so wrapped up in each other that they forgot I was there, again.

            “You could ask, and I’m sure Chuck would let you go with Them. You know, if you—you wanted to go that is. I mean, I guess I wouldn’t blame you. This place—this place is a hot mess. And you’d get a chance to really know Chuck and the other douchebags, Gabe not included.”

            I watch my friend flounder. He doesn’t meet my eyes as he tries to sound like he supports me wanting to go with the other angels. If I wanted to go. I don’t. “Dean, I would never leave you and Sam and Jack.”

            A huge sigh of relief and a burp escapes Dean. “Oh—I mean, oh. Yeah, that’s cool. I mean, you know, if you had wanted to go, that’d have been cool. But it’s…” he trails off and clears his throat. I study the lines of weariness and grief on his face. There’s a new one every day. Sometimes, Dean looks so very old, like someone twice his age. And, I realize, he’s always carried the weight of someone twice his age, the grief and life experience.

            Dean’s a good man, a righteous man, and this life is the one he gets. There are so many wicked humans out there that deserve torture and punishment and heartache, yet they don’t get it. They get to be rich and surrounded by people who love them without fear of monsters or demons snatching everything they’ve worked for away from them. It’s not fair.

            “I’m here for as long as you are, Dean,” I say firmly. “You are the only family that matters to me, now. I’ll choose you over God.”

            Dean chuckles. “That’s a given, considering you already have. Tell me something new.” He stares at his chips with disinterest, and I notice that Dean’s lost weight. Had it started with his return from being possessed? Or had it been even before that?

            Dean loves his junk food, but he’s stopped finishing his meals. I’ve been so focused on getting Gabriel to eat half a meal that I haven’t paid Dean much mind. Has Sam noticed and said something? Has Mary?

            “Dean, are you all right?” I ask. I know he’ll say he’s fine.

            Dean’s tired eyes meet mine. “As all right as you are, pal.”

            Touché.

            I take a few of Dean’s chips, liking the salty flavor. My taste buds aren’t as delicate as Gabriel’s, I don’t enjoy food in the way he does, but I can appreciate salt…and beer. Dean retrieves an unopened bottle from an end table, and passes it to me.

            We both stare at Judge Judy, but I’m sure neither of us knows what any of the cases are about today.

* * *

 

 

~*~

 

            “Okay, man, I’ve held my peace long enough! This has gone too far!” Dean throws his hands up in the air, gesturing to Gabriel’s half-up, half-down hairdo. “You’ve got cheerleader hair, dude!”

            Gabriel grins at Dean. He sits on top of the kitchen island, his favorite seat in the kitchen, a warm bowl of cinnamon apple crisp, courtesy of Chuck, in his lap. The dark circles under his eyes keep him from appearing overly smug as he says, “You wish you could pull this look off, Dean-o.”

            I watch the exchange from the kitchen table, appreciating the weak distraction. Michael sits next to me; Sam and Mary across from us. God is bringing Raphael to the bunker today and none of us know what to expect, a vengeful archangel furious at being killed by me—an angry brother who won’t want to see Michael or Gabriel—or another mess.

            Michael taps his foot, a nervous tick that intrigues me, because of its very human nature. Michael’s vessel is pale and has become subject to human needs, such as eating and sleeping. He rejected Father’s healing. Both of my older brothers are willingly choosing to suffer from guilt. A thousand millennia ago, I would have scoffed at the idea of archangels feeling guilty and wanting to be punished over anything they did. But a thousand years ago, I didn’t know my brothers at all—and perhaps, they didn’t know themselves either.

            “Michael,” Mary says, her voice kind, “how about some tea? It might help your nerves. It’d also be something for you to hold.” Her eyes are on Michael’s hands as he pulls at his big knuckles.

            Michael’s brown eyes are wide as a doe’s as he peers at her. His face and voice are solemn. “No thank you, Mary Winchester.” He bites his lip. “You’ve been most kind to a being that has not been kind to you in the past.”

            “I don’t remember meeting you in the past…”

            “Because I didn’t allow you to,” Michael says. “There were things you couldn’t know then—or rather, things I thought you shouldn’t know. None of it matters now. Perhaps, your life would have been better had I let you keep your knowledge, as would the lives of those around us.”

            Mary’s expression is cloudy for a moment. Sam and Dean tense, Dean looking as if he’s struggling to hold something in. Sam’s fists clench on the table.

            “Angels screwed with our lives from the very beginning,” Sam says slowly. “Even before we were born, there was a plan for us. But…” he takes a deep breath, before looking up at Michael. His eyes aren’t kind, but there’s a slight glimmer of empathy. “You were following orders from your Dad. You thought it was what He wanted, because He left you without anything else. Did you think He’d come back, if you succeeded in what He asked you to do?”

            Michael nods. “I thought it could be as it was. I was a fool.”

            Sam closes his eyes and his hands unclench. “Everyone in this room has been pretty stupid at some point or other.”

            “But you forgive Chuck—God?” Dean asks. “You ready to fall back in line and do what He says, because He’s here again?”

            Michael bows his head and I hesitate, then place a hand on his thick shoulder. He shudders, but doesn’t flinch away. He’s been very accepting of my presence, never seeking me out, but never sending me away when I’m in the room or come into a room he’s in with Gabriel. I don’t think he feels badly for dismissing me that day, but that he doesn’t do it again, warms me a bit. But I wish it didn’t. It makes me feel dependent on their acceptance of me. I shouldn’t care about it, because they don’t really care. They don’t realize how they hurt me, so why should I let them?

            “I forgive my Father because He has restored my brothers to me,” Michael says softly. “And He offers us a new life, one where we’ll have no roles to play but the ones we desire.”

            “You trust Him?” Dean asks.

            “He is God,” Michael says simply.

            “But He lied to you,” Dean says. “And what about those other worlds? Hell, there’s another you tearing this world up and pissed as hell at you guys’ Dad. You wanna meet him and ask him what he has to say about it?”

            Michael simply looks at Dean and frowns, as if deep in thought. “I do not think I ever liked you. This vessel,” Michael pats his chest, “was home to a strong, good man. He loved God and his family and his work. He was honorable, kind and soft-spoken. You are crass and loud and… better suited to Gabriel than I.”

            Dean looks as if he doesn’t know if he should be insulted or not. He pokes Gabriel as the other archangel stuffs a spoonful of apple crisp in his mouth. “Yeah, well, good thing I’m better suited to this one. I actually like him.”

            Michael hums thoughtfully and says nothing else.

            “When did Bobby say he and Jack were gonna get back again?” Sam asks, breaking the silence.

            “He didn’t,” Dean says. “But I’m guessing a few days. Might not be too wise having a Nephilim around when old Raphael gets here. You and him passed that Nephilim ban, right?”

            Michael sighs and rolls his eyes in Dean’s direction. “They have monstrous powers and no control. It was better for none to be made.”

            “But you had the ones that were already around killed.”

  
            “It was for the best,” Michael says, sounding cool and unapologetic. “Your Jack once had the power to kill an archangel from what I’ve been told. Devouring his grace gave Lucifer immeasurable power. Such power belongs to God alone. But God chooses not to destroy your Nephilim, and His decisions are mine.”

            I can tell Dean wants to retort, but Michael has just said he won’t try to harm Jack. I wish he said it because he’d come to know the boy and likes him, but Michael is as indifferent to Jack as he is to humans. Killing him would bring no joy or sorrow.

            “Mike, Mike, Mike…” Gabriel drawls, licking his spoon. “Can you sound less like a jerk for just a second? Jack’s a good kid. That’s why no one’s touching him. He used those awesome powers he once had to do good things.”

            “For humans,” Michael says.

            “Well, yeah,” Gabriel says. “But…”

            “He’d kill angels for humans,” Michael says.

            Gabriel blinks and looks down at his dessert. I shift uncomfortably. I’ve killed angels for humans. Michael knows this, but… his brown eyes are me.

            “You’ve killed angels for humans too, Castiel.” His voice is soft, wondering. “You’ve joined them completely and have abandoned all thought of returning to Heaven for good. You’ve chosen to Fall, but Father restored your wings. I…do not know how I feel about you.”

            “Then you need to get to know him,” Gabriel says. “And Jack. It…”

            “Getting to know him and the Nephilim will take time. We will not be here for much longer, Gabriel.”

            My heart skips a beat.

            “I—I know. I just thought…” Gabriel stammers but Michael’s staring intently at him.

            “We shouldn’t linger. You’re too attached as it is, and you promised.”

            Gabriel puts his apple crisp aside, swallowing hard. “Yeah, yeah I did. Okay.”

            “Hey, you don’t get to just shut him down like that—” Dean starts.

            “He is my younger brother, and he shows respect,” Michael says simply. “You don’t get respect from Sam?”

            I would laugh if the situation isn’t so tense. Sam’s eyes go wide and Dean looks startled. “Ah…” His mouth opens and closes.

            “You should respect Gabriel too,” Sam says quickly. “Dean respects me. Most of the time.”

            “All the time!” Dean snaps.

            Sam makes a face. “We talk things out. We don’t always agree, but we can compromise. Uh… look, if Gabe doesn’t really want…”

            “I do,” Gabriel says quickly. “I do want.”

            “And it is settled,” Michael says with a nod and goes back to pulling his knuckles.

            Dean looks like it’s not settled. He’s going to say something, but God appears with a young woman in his arms. She looks to be asleep. Her skin is a rich brown and her black hair is long and tightly coiled. Michael and Gabriel are on their feet, rushing to Him.

            “Salome,” Gabriel says softly, touching the woman’s cheek. He looks to God. “Raphael loved her most of all.”

            Father nods. “I think it’s fitting that all of you are wearing the faces you did when we last saw each other in Heaven. You set that tone, Gabriel.”

            “Yet you’re gonna keep looking like the White dude from the computer store?” Gabriel raises a brow, and Father chuckles.

            “I like this form,” Father says. “It’s nondescript. No one pays attention when I walk in or when I leave unless I make noise. But you, my sons, draw attention with these bodies.”

            Michael frowns. “Father, I don’t think now is the time to banter with Gabriel. Is…” His eyes are on Raphael’s vessel. “When will he wake?”

            “When I tell him to,” Father says. “Come, we’ll go to the room I just made for you all.”

            “Just made…” Dean stammers. “You can’t just go making rooms in other people’s houses!”

            “He is God,” Michael says, sparing Dean a patronizing look.

            Father leaves with Raphael in his arms, Michael and Gabriel following. I stay glued to my seat, legs wanting to get up and trail my Heavenly family; heart knowing I’m not wanted. I feel sympathetic glances being thrown my way and refuse to meet any eyes.

            The glass clink of a beer bottle being set down in front of me breaks through my funk. Dean winks at me. “Come on, let’s find a case. Maybe a good old fashioned haunted house. You want in Sam, Mom? We can make it a family trip. Family trip sound good to you, Cass?”

            All the eyes I avoided are smiling at me.

            They want me and don’t forget me like an item on a list—and don’t use me as a servant or babysitter. I smile back.

            “A family trip sounds good,” I say.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

_Gabriel_

 

            “Are you really going to make him stay in there until he apologizes to everyone?” I ask, frowning at the closet Raphael is banished to. Dad warded and sound-proofed it and sits in a high-backed chair in front of the door looking like a comic book movie nerd pissed off about spoilers.

            “I oughtta wash his mouth out with holy water,” Dad growls.

            “We all knew he’d be pissed,” I say, standing a few feet away from Him and the closet door. Well, I knew it. I guess I hadn’t expected him to be mad at Michael too, though. Michael sulks on a large white divan in our new room styled to look like a modernized Imperial Roman suite.

            Michael’s area consists of the divan, a fountain and a window view of the cloud-world he wants to visit. Mine has a king-sized bed, a wall-mounted plasma TV and gaming gear, and Raphael’s has a golden hammock and easels. Why Dad thought we would all want to be in the same room is beyond me, but the setup is pretty cool.

            “I should be left alone to talk to him” Michael says. “To apologize, because I could not nurture him.”

            “You don’t have to apologize for that,” Dad says, then sighs and lowers the sound barrier. “Are you ready to come out?”

            “I will not speak false apologies!” Salome’s voice is high and clear.

            “You’ll stay in there forever then!”

            “So be it!”

            “Dad, this is not helping—” I start.

            “Shut up, Gabriel! No one wishes to hear words from your foolish, selfish, cowardly lips! Faking your own death! Hah! I knew you were alive. You would never have sacrificed yourself in such a way! You let Michael and I perish, while you whored and gluttoned yourself on Earth! You disgust me more than Lucifer!”

            His words are knives in my chest, bullets to my brain; the kind of pain I crave and welcome. Good. Someone hates me. I feel Michael focus his attention on me, and I spare him a glance. He’s frowning at me with his head cocked to one side. He gets off the divan, moving past me to stand in front of Dad.

            “Raphael, I would speak to you.”

            “Not if you are associating with Father and Gabriel!”

            Raspberries. This is a Raphael I know nothing about. Until today, I didn’t know he could yell. Dean and Sam and Castiel told me he was cold. Michael confirmed the change, but being in New Raphael’s presence is…

            “I want to talk to you too,” I say. “Please.”

            “Banish him from the room, Michael. Both him and Father, and I will talk to you.”

            “Banish _Me_?” Dad’s eyes flash and Michael backs up a step. He narrows His glowing eyes at Michael, and Michael gulps.

            “That—that is… Father.” Michael clears his throat. “I am not telling You to leave, or even saying that You should. But I wonder if You might…uh… feed Gabriel. He did not eat all of the portion You prepared for him earlier and his vessel is pale and leaking.”

            Leaking? I blink, then sniffle. Oh. But…leaking? Really? “You’ve told Dad to get out before. Why are you so shy now?” I can’t help but throw out. Leaking. Jerk.

            “Because before he was in pain,” Dad says through his teeth. “Fine, Michael. I will leave. Come on, Gabriel.”

            I don’t want to go. I need to be here, so Raphael can scream at me. He’s allowed to be angry. I don’t want Michael to talk him around or calm him down. Dad reaches out, grabbing my forearm. “Now.”

            I let Him drag me out of the room and close the door. I gaze back at it as Dad leads us to the kitchen, wishing I could hear what my brothers are talking about without me. The kitchen’s empty of all humans and Castiel. Dad digs through the pantry. He can just make food appear, but He likes to bake and cook and chop and mix. He zapped all sorts of ingredients for making stuff into the pantry, cupboards and fridge, and even created an appliance or three.

            Flour, baking powder, sugar, eggs, butter, semi-sweet bars of fudge, milk…kale…fly onto the kitchen island. I sit down on a bar stool, watching the ingredient pile grow.

            “I’m going to bake a double chocolate, chocolate chip cake with cream cheese frosting,” He says, smacking his lips. “And how about some vanilla ice cream?”

            “I can’t eat all of that,” I say, mind still in the room we left. “Dad, would You be okay if Raphael decides that he hates Us both for good and doesn’t come with Us and stays in Heaven, maybe?”

            Dad scowls as he measures out ingredients. “Is that what you’re okay with?”

            “Uh…” Yeah. “Yes. It’s whatever he wants now. I just… I didn’t want him to be dead. Now, he’s alive and he knows where to find me and…” He can actively hate me.

            “That human therapist does nothing for you,” Dad mutters. “You need to let Me make it better. I can get rid of all those bad feelings and memories too, for all of you. You can start over with a blank slate.”

            “Lucifer wanted to do that to me, you know,” I say.

            Dad stops mixing and stares at me. “Did he say why?”

            “He wanted me to trust him again. And… he told Sam that I’d be better off without my memories of all the in-fighting and everything that happened after it.”

            “He might have been right,” Dad says carefully. “Son, your brother…” He sighs. “There was something broken inside him that I just can’t fix in any reality. I don’t know what’s wrong with his formula, but… he really loved you all. I’ve told you that. In his own way, he wanted to look after you.”

            “He thought he killed me.”

            “Didn’t you say he wept afterward?”

            I tilt my head back and take a deep breath, not liking to think about _that_ older brother for too long. It makes me nauseous. “And then he carried on with his plans to kill Michael.”

            “Yes, he did do that,” Dad says. He concentrates on making cake again. Mixing bowls and cups clink and an electric hand-mixer whirs. “I guess that leads into Me saying: Don’t compare Me to Lucifer. I only have your well-being in mind. I think a mind-cleanse is the healthiest solution. Clean, clear minds for our next adventure.”

            “And none of us would be mad at You anymore either,” I say.

            “Added perk for Me,” Dad says. “Here, taste this.” He extends a fudge-coated spoon toward me. I didn’t notice Him melt the chocolate. He triples His speed, manipulating time to make baking a quicker process.

            I take the spoon, sucking on it like a lollipop. It’s decadent, but swallowing the fudge is like swallowing tar. I don’t want food.

            “I won’t accept a cleanse. If Michael and Raphael want to, that’s them. I go as is.”

            Dad sighs, taking the spoon back, then gripping my chin in one hand so that I’m looking Him dead in the face. He seems at a complete loss. “What else can I do for you, little one? I can’t let you fade away. Your brothers being here seems to make you worse.”

            “No,” I protest. “I-it makes me better. I like them here.”

            “Your misery increased. You’re not sleeping well and you’re eating even less. And Michael is right, you’re leaking.” A box of Kleenex appears at my elbows. “That human virus should have run its course a long time ago. It hasn’t because you won’t let it.”

            I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

            “To you,” Dad says. He puts His cake in the oven and goes about whipping up frosting from scratch.

            “I can’t help it,” I murmur. “I feel… this… black hole in me. It sucks up all my energy and spits out all these thoughts that just swim ‘round and ‘round, reminding me of what I did and why I’m bad. And showing me their grief. And--” My voice rises on the “and” to cut Dad off before he insists that’s why He should take my memories away. “I deserve it! I can’t be forgiven if I forget it all.”

            “But deep down, you don’t want to be forgiven,” Dad says. “That’s where your logic is flawed, because you’re sick. Have you ever heard of a human condition called depression?”

            I snort. “Yeah, two humans diagnosed me with it, one a crazy assassin, one a therapist who does me no good.” I slouch backward, grabbing a few tissues to take care of my “leak”.

            Dad uses a spoon, not the mixer, to blend the icing and keeps His head down. “You’ve wished for death, and think of it as something you also deserve.”

            A chill runs through my veins and I shiver. “Might as well have been dead for all the help I’ve been.”

            “Humans take medicine for your condition. Let Me be your medicine,” Dad says. “Humans pray for My medicine.”

            I shake my head. “I’m not human. I won’t pray or ask. Just… let me be for a while.”

            The oven timer dings, and Dad places a perfectly delicious-looking chocolate cake in front of me along with a bowl of frosting. “Do with it what you want,” He says and disappears, leaving me alone.

            I blink, feeling a little lonely in His absence. I liked Him being close. I don’t want His healing, but His presence soothes another need in me that I can’t name. I dip a finger in the frosting and lick it off. It’s amazing, but I’m not tempted.

            Should I find Dean and Cas…tiel. Ah crap. We did it again. We left Castiel out—though it was probably wise seeing as he’s not Raphael’s favorite angel at the moment. But before that, Dad, Michael and me had been alone; Dad making promises, and Michael eating them up, and me agreeing—and not including Cass. Dad promised to spend more time with him, but I think all that time ended up being giving Cass assignments or two-second check-ins.

            If Dad wasn’t working with Raphael or taking care of me and Michael, he was… I shut my eyes. Poor Castiel. I make to slide off the stool and seek him out, but I feel… an aura—Raphael’s—growing in distress. My stomach churns as it spins out of control and I feel it moving—fast—toward the kitchen.

            I barely have to “eep” before slender, muscular arms wrap around my midsection and hug me so tight I can’t breathe. Soft, springy black curls tickle my nose and lips as I struggle to understand the rapid Enochian Raphael babbles at me.

            He releases me only to grab my face and kiss my cheeks and press his forehead against mine, while still holding me in place. His dark brown eyes are wet, black lashes spiked with tears. “You’ve been in Hell—in Hell—for a thousand years. Some of that was when I was alive and of sound mind and planning Second Apocalypses. I could have smote that demon and released you!”

            I choke on his knowledge, fighting back flashbacks. “I also could have _not_ faked my death, and gone back to Heaven, because you needed me there.”

            He shakes me hard. “You. Were. In. Hell. With. Demons. And there were demons down there that knew you were in there. That toyed with you and tortured you that still live. I shall go to Hell at once.”

            “No!” The idea scares the shit out of me. “No! You won’t go there. N-no angel should ever go there.”

            “And no angel will go there again, after I am done.”

            I grip his slim shoulders. “Raphael…”

            But his eyes blaze with fire. “You have been gone a long time, little brother. I am an archangel of vengeance now. I am only appeased by blood.”

            Oh, Raphael. The world spins and grays. My brother—I see a ghost of him in Salome’s body, listening to music, watching flowers bloom, sketching clouds and creating new colors. I hear his soft voice, urging me to be patient, to listen—trying to be a gentle mediator between me and Michael and Lucifer.

            What’s happened to you is my fault.

            Arms keep me from hitting the floor, and voices call my name, wanting me to come back to them. But nothing can bring me back from the pit I dug for myself, and I don’t want to drag anyone else in. I shove the helping hands away and sit up on my own, the hard floor grounding me, tethering my consciousness to this reality—the one I deserve—and bury my face in my hands.

 

 


End file.
